


Masquerade

by NyxEtoile



Series: Syn and Loki Multiverse (Dark Inside AUs) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Let's Be Bad Guys, Loki Does What He Wants, No Redemption Here, POV Alternating, Political Alliances, Post-Thor: The Dark World, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p>I could write AUs for these two till the cows come home, I'm not ashamed. This one is a little different, though. It is entirely stand-alone. You don't need to have read any of the other stories to understand this one.</p><p> Syn isn't the positive influence she usually is. She's the queen of Alfheim with her own demons. She finds an alliance with the false king is in her best interest. So begins a partnership that could threaten the nine realms and beyond.</p><hr/><p>
  <i>She stopped and crossed her arms over the back of the chair, leaning on it. “There’s nothing Odin could have done for me and little I could have offered him. You, Trickster, are a different matter.”</i>
</p><p>  <i>He tipped his head back, pacing off a little square of the room, keeping himself between her and the door. “Is this where you try and seduce me? That might almost be amusing.”</i><br/> <br/><i>She shook her head, looking almost disappointed. “Why is it when a woman tries to negotiate men always assume her opening offer will be opening her legs? It rather denotes a lack of imagination.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snakes in Their Midst

**Author's Note:**

> Oh I had such fun with this one. Such fun. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Posts Sundays.

_Before I built a wall I'd ask to know_    
 _What I was walling in or walling out,_    
 _And to whom I was like to give offense._  
\-- Robert Frost, Mending Wall

Loki had never considered himself a particularly spontaneous person. He tended to plan things out as far out in advance as possible. So there was a certain amount of humor to be found in the fact that he had finally found himself on the throne with a plan conceived in less than an hour on a barren, wind blown rock of a realm after waking up from what he’d been rather certain was his own death. Even he was occasionally surprised at the extent of injury he could withstand.

Still, the fear and certainty had convinced Thor of his death far better than any tricks Loki could have conjured up. They’d even had a brief moment of brotherly honesty - though he made an effort not to think on that very often. There was no room for sentiment in his plans. Thor was safe on Midgard, gone voluntarily, another remarkable turn of fate Loki couldn’t have planned out. And now he ruled Asgard and, by extension, the united realms.

No one had told him, however, how utterly boring being king could be.

Every year, just before mid winter, the rulers of the realms (that weren’t extinct, dead, frost giants, or human) met for a week to discuss problems and concerns. Loki remembered, vaguely, attending a few with Odin when he and Thor had been children. It had consisted of long meetings, old men taking over each other and arguing, and had been, on the whole, extremely boring.

They were no more interesting as an adult. Well, it might have been entertaining had he been himself and been able to respond to properly to the idiots kissing up to him. Withering looks and mild-to-moderate violence soothed so many annoyances. Unfortunately, he was dressed in the guise of Odin and forced to maintain the charade for as long as possible.

At least Odin wasn’t known for being particularly chatty. Loki could simply nod and grunt in agreement occasionally and his Vanir guides were content to continue the chatter. Something about a new wing having been added to the palace in honor of the summit. Loki doubted Odin would have been any more interested.

The man showing him around was not the king of Vanaheim, but a chancellor of some sort. It was possible the man was a brilliant politician and the Vanir king depended on him as his right hand. Right now, he reeked of fear and fidgeted nervously. Apparently, he had never met Odin before. All the more reason not to engage him in conversation, then. The fellow might piss himself if he tried.

He was shown the chambers he would be using for the duration of the summit. They were grandiose, well appointed rooms, one for sleeping and another for private meetings or taking his meals if he wished. The windows opened onto a balcony overlooking the nearby forest, a mountain range in the far distance. They were perfectly serviceable, the type of rooms one expected a visiting king to have assigned to him. The chancellor, however, was watching him expectantly, hands twisting in on themselves. Loki spared him a nod and removed the heavy traveling cloak he was wearing.

“This will do fine,” he said, Odin’s rough voice filling the room. The other man visibly relaxed. “Where are the other leaders?”

“They weren’t certain when you would arrive so they began supper. A place has been set for you if you’d like me to show you the way.”

A meal would allow him to size up the others before the negotiating and bickering started. He gave another one of his brisk nods. “Lead on.”

Their footsteps echoed sharply against the walls and ceiling of the palace hall. Vanaheim aesthetic was very crisp and streamlined. Lots of polished stone and wide open spaces. It was similar to Asgardian decor but more subdued somehow. Humbler. Asgard wanted to remind you they were gods. Vanaheim was content to be royalty.

The dining room was almost intimate in comparison. The long table could have sat at least twenty, but held just five, with a place set for Loki - or, rather, Odin - making it six. The conversation stopped when he entered and the other leaders looked up.

Loki recognized the king and queen of Vanir. They were younger than Odin, but not by much. They had a son and several daughters, all of his and Thor’s generation, more or less. The king, Ullr, and Odin were old friends, so he was likely going to be the hardest to fool. Loki knew next to nothing about the queen, other than she and his mother had not gotten along.

The king was at the head of the table, with his wife on his left and Odin’s open seat to the right. Next to the queen was the Dwarven king, whom Loki only recognized by stature. The Dwarves were notoriously insular and kept to themselves. They were aligned with the other realms and would supply weapons and other metal work when needed, but really preferred to be left out of politics.

Next to the empty chair was Surtur, king of Muspelheim. He was the closest thing Odin had to an enemy, now that Laufey was dead. He met Loki’s eyes briefly, and there was something like cold fury in them. Loki made a mental note to watch him carefully. It was often one’s enemies who were closer than friends.

 Next to him was the only person at the table Loki couldn’t place. She was his age, more or less, with light brown hair done up in an elaborate braid. By the style of her gown and process of elimination she had to be of Alfheim, though last Loki had heard they were ruled by a king with no bride. It was possible he’d gotten married in the last year or two. But, if so, where was his seat at the table?

Ullr stood and clasped his hand and Loki forced a smile to his face. “Hello, old friend.”

“It’s good to see you, Allfather,” Ullr responded, sounding sincere. “I hope the journey was painless.”

“At my age, almost nothing is.” The jest got a faint laugh from the group, as expected.

Ullr gestured to the table. “You know everyone, of course. But I imagine you haven’t seen our new Alfan delegate in a long time. May I present Her Majesty, Queen Syn the Truthful?”

The woman didn’t stand, just inclined her head at his bow. When he met her gaze again there was something odd in it, almost like amusement. “Your highness,” she said. “I believe I was a child when last we met.”

Loki searched his memory for anything he knew of the Alfan royal house and came up with an image of a freckle faced, gangly girl trying to climb a tree in the gardens of Alfheim. He and Thor had tagged along on some peace keeping mission with the promise of meeting the young prince and princess. The prince had left no lasting impression, but the girl had been a brat of the highest order. Asgard and Alfheim had gone to war soon after and he’d never seen her again.

“Your brother-”

“Dead these six months,” she supplied. “A hunting accident. But it was right before you lost your dear queen, so I don’t blame you for forgetting.”

“Of course.” Odin wouldn’t have forgotten, whereas Loki had never known. She had covered the error smoothly, though. Almost too smoothly. Well honed instincts went on alert. “My condolences.”

She lifted her wine glass slightly, her hands were slim and pale, nails painted a rich blue. “And mine to you,” she replied, before sipping the wine. Her eyes never left his face, though, and once again he saw amusement there.

Shaking off the doubt, he sank into his empty seat and gestured for a servant to fill his glass.

“We’ve been trying to convince Queen Syn of the joys of marriage,” Ullr said with joviality that bordered on falseness. “But she resists.”

“I merely pointed out that Alfan tradition dictates I mourn my brother for at least a year,” she replied, still toying with her wine goblet. Her tone was polite, conversational, but Loki could hear the faintest thread of annoyance coloring the words. “To even contemplate courting at this point would be unseemly.”

“Quite right, of course,” Ullr nodded, gesturing with his glass in a way that made Loki think he was rather far into his cups for this early in the meal. “But after that, surely one of the realms eligible men will catch your eye.”

“Like your son, Ullr,” Hreidmar, the Dwarf king, rumbled. “Speak plainly, man. We’re not at the treaty table just yet.”

“Eager to marry your boy off?” Syn asked. “Usually it’s the daughters kings hope to usher out of the house.”

Ullr waved his glass again. “Dallr would be a fine match for you, my lady, but of course he is one of many who’d seek your hand. Perhaps Odin here would try to tempt you with his remaining son.”

Loki arranged his borrowed face into a thin smile. “I’m afraid Thor’s eye has already wandered far from our exalted halls. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Ah, well. There’s lords aplenty in Alfheim, are there not?” Ullr looked back to the queen, sipping his wine. Through the spark of drink in his eyes Loki finally saw something akin to cunning. The Vanir King was up to something. Possibly just sizing up someone he considered a new opponent. But the tipsy bluster was at least partially a ploy. 

Very interesting. He looked at the Alfan queen to gauge her response.

“I find it interesting,” she said, mouth curling into an odd, crooked smile. “That dear King Surtur here had been a proud bachelor throughout his centuries long reign and yet none of you feel the need to find him a wife.”

“Leave me out of this,” the man said with a half amused head shake.

Syn was staring down Ullr and barely seemed to notice the other king’s addition. “And my dear brother, spirits rest him, never seemed to have his courtships - or lack thereof - questioned. So I can only assume you find yourself so interested in my marriage potential because I’m a woman.” She tilted her head and Loki was brought to mind of a cat batting a bug around the floor. “Tell me, King Ullr, what _is_ it about having a single woman at your conference table that frightens you so?”

The others at the table went very still before turning, in virtual unison, to watch Ullr for his reaction. His eyes narrowed over his goblet and his smile when he spoke was brittle. “Not fear, dear girl. Merely concern for your wellbeing. Politics is a difficult game for even the sternest soul. It’s not for creatures with delicate sensibilities.” He broke into a broad grin, lifting his glass. “Besides, what would queens be without their kings?” This was aimed at the rest of the table, seeking solidarity with the other men.

The Alfan queen’s brow went up just as the doors opened to admit the servants with their dinner. “Historically speaking?” she said, watching Ullr and his slowly fading smile. “Far better off.”

Loki had perfected his impression of Odin in the last months. He had grown up watching the man and had a reasonable idea of what his response would be in most situations all while balancing his own needs and schemes. He had not, however, spent much time with him in this sort of environment. His general impression was that the old man had stayed on the sidelines and let the rest duke it out, only intervening when his opinion was necessary. It was a useful strategy for him now. He was unfamiliar with most of the people here and it was obvious that there was a great deal going on under the surface here.

As the meal was served conversation moved away from the Alfan queen and her marital prospects. Loki listened with half an ear to the discussions of weather and crops and Ullr’s problems with the marauder attacks. He added a comment here and there when it would have seemed odd not to. But for the most part he tried to listen and learn.

It took him a while to realize that Queen Syn was doing the same thing. He found himself watching her watch the others. She ate her meal and sipped her wine with slow, precise movements, not drawing attention to herself. When she noticed his attention she smiled and gave what might have been a wink.

It was all he could do not to grin in return, until he realized that was not the sort of reaction she would have given Odin. His instincts, which had just started to calm, roared back to life. This woman could be very, very dangerous to him.

At the same time, he thought far less of Ullr and the others for not seeing the same thing. How easy was it going to play them if they were so blind to snakes in their midst?

*

Syn had not expected this summit to be interesting. Had she been able to think of a reasonable excuse not to attend she would have. And the first few hours had gone exactly as she’d expected; being ignored, patronized, and belittled but the three kings. As if she was a small child who had wandered into a meeting of older boys and they were just waiting for her to scoot along so they could talk about the important things.

And then Odin the Allfather had been announced into the dining room. And things had gotten very interesting indeed.

“And how was supper with the kings of wit and charm?”

Syn smiled, watching in the mirror as her servant, Hilde, approached. She referred to Hilde as her maid when in public and it was a title Hilde - who would be the first to remind you was a simple farm girl who had no business living in a palace - was comfortable with. But she was, in reality, so much more than that. She remembered all the mundane, everyday minutia that Syn never could. She kept her calendar, remembered birthdays and anniversaries. She knew the current trends of fashion and whether Syn had worn the royal blue gown with gold accents or the navy blue with silver three nights ago last Tuesday. She had no skill for politics in general, but she had a knack for seeing things at an angle Syn could not, which made her an excellent sounding board for her problems.

Tonight, however, she didn’t think she could share her particular conundrum. Not yet, anyway. Her own mind needed to tease out all the possibilities first.

So she simply answered, “Enlightening,” as she turned on the vanity bench to face her. “Ullr dislikes me for some reason. Hreidmar is uninterested in my marriage potential, which makes me think he wants something from me. And Sutur. . . Sutur I cannot fathom yet, which I find extremely irksome.”

HIlde snorted, shaking out the blue dress Syn had discarded onto a chair after supper. She inspected it for stains or damage as she carried it to the wardrobe she had unpacked the rest of Syn’s dresses into. “And what of Odin?”

Syn pursed her lips, not certain how much she could say without risking a lie. “Not what I expected,” she settled on finally, pleased it didn’t cause the usual pulse of pain she felt when bending the truth.

Her friend shot her a sharp look. “I know that tone. You’re keeping a secret.”

This is what come of keeping confidantes. “Just for the moment. I have a great deal to sort out before I bring your opinion into the mess.”

The other woman snorted again, inspecting the contents of the wardrobe. “I wish you’d let me pack some light colors. You look so severe in darks.”

And just like that, the subject was dropped. Syn smiled at the rush of affection she felt for her friend just then. “I’m supposed to be in mourning,” she reminded her. “And a little severity in wardrobe can only help me. It’s going to be an uphill battle to get them to take me seriously as it is. Pastels make me look like a little girl.”

“Don’t know that any of them will mistake you for a tot, your majesty.” She frowned at the dresses. “What color tomorrow?”

Syn tilted her head, remembering a little black haired boy who’d wrinkled his nose at her tousled hair and dirty skirts when they were both too young to know how harsh the worlds could be. “Something green,” she said quietly, a slight smile tugging her lips.


	2. An Honest Proposal

_The female contains all qualities and tempers them,_  
 _She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,_

\-- Walt Whitman, I Sing the Body Electric 

* * *

The morning negotiations began bright and early the next morning. After a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage, fruit, and pastries they had been ushered into the smallest room Loki had seen in the palace so far, an almost intimate parlor furnished with a round table, chairs and very little else. Two walls of windows looked out on the impressive mountain range behind the palace.

They were a good, solid two hours in and all they had managed to talk about was the new vein of uru recently found on Alfheim and how very, very much the Dwarves wanted it. 

Though not, apparently, enough to pay a fair price for it.

“First choice and discounted rates on items produced is a more than reasonable offer,” Hreidmar said, glaring at Queen Syn from across the table. He had been vehemently arguing his - in Loki’s opinion - completely ridiculous terms for the entirety of the two hours and his exasperation was beginning to show. It was difficult to tell beneath the beard, but his face was currently a rather unattractive shade of red.

“You wish to take metal dug out of my land and in return you will charge me slightly less exorbitant prices on the wares you make from it. The Dwarven definition of reasonable must be far different from the one I am used to.” The queen, for her part, had remained cool and relaxed throughout the argument. She was currently almost reclining in her chair, resplendent in a hunter green gown and gold jewelry, hair once again elaborately done. Her nails this morning were painted gold with minuscule green gems on two fingers of each hand. Magic ran in the royal lines of Alfan and Loki wondered if she used some to create such effects.

He and the other kings had attempted to have their own discussion regarding the marauders currently plaguing Vanaheim. Hreidmar had grown loud quickly, though and the effort became futile. They had taken, instead, to watching the other two argue as if it were a spectator sport. No one was casting him imploring looks to put a stop to it, so he assumed that Odin hadn’t intervened in such matters.

“The Dwarves do not barter, girl. These are my terms-”

“If you call me ‘girl’ one more time I will cut off all negotiations and keep the uru to myself,” Syn said cooly.

“And do what with it?” Hreidmar raged.

“This may shock you but there are a good handful of Alfans who know how to use a forge. Asgardians, too. I believe there are forges to be found on Vanaheim and Muspelheim as well. Even Midgard boasts the ability to heat metal and bang it into shape. You are not the only metalworkers in the realms, your majesty.” She leaned forward and for the first time Loki saw anger in her eyes and heard it in her voice. “Or perhaps I’ll dig it all up and _keep_ it. Hoard it like a dragon. Just so you cannot have it.” 

She flattened a palm on the table before her and Loki glanced at the other in her lap to see it was trembling. “You will address me as your majesty. Or your highness. I will even accept my lady or your grace. If you really can’t bring yourself to spit out an honorific you can use my given name, as you do the other men here. But do not call me ‘girl’ again, unless you plan to start calling Surtur ‘boy.’”

“He’s older than you,” Hreidmar said, the weakest of arguments.

 “And we’re both centuries younger than you,” Syn retorted. “I am a young queen, but I am still queen, and you will manage the bare minimum of respect due me while we sit at this table. Am I clear?”

“Diamond clear,” the dwarf spat.

“Good.” She leaned back in her seat again. “Unless you have a better offer this conversation is over.”

Silence reigned over the room, heavy and awkward. Now he was getting those imploring looks, so he cleared his throat and slapped his hands onto the arms of his chair. “I’d say that’s as good a place for a recess as any. Wouldn’t you agree, Ullr?”

The other man leapt on the suggestion gratefully. “Yes. A mid morning recess is definitely in order. Say an hour?” This with a glance at Loki, who acknowledge it with one of Odin’s slight nods. “Please feel free to ask the servants for anything you need.”

Ullr stood, as did Surtur. Syn and Hreidmar continued to stare each other down. Loki wondered if he was going to have to break it up, the way his mother used to separate him and Thor, when Syn stood gracefully, whirled, and strode out the door without a backward glance at anyone.

Loki exchanged brief pleasantries with Ullr on the way out of the room, before branching off to track down the Alfan. He was suddenly quite convinced she was his biggest threat.

He found her in the library and stayed in the doorway half hidden by shadow, to watch her a moment. He’d expected her to be shaking, perhaps crying, having some sort of reaction to the rather spectacular lecture she had just given. Instead, he found her leaning against one of the shelves, a book in her hand, turning pages idly.

She looked up as he stepped into the room, watching him with an unreadable expression. He closed the door behind him to offer a modicum of privacy. He didn’t trust Ullr to not have his servants spying for him. “Your highness.”

The book closed with a quiet snap. “Sire,” she replied, still watching him.

He strolled farther into the room, feigning a casual air as best he could. “You could call me Odin, as the others do.”

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t think I can.”

Something in her tone caught his attention and he looked at her. “Your little speech on honorifics was pretty enough, but there’s no need to stand on ceremony away from the conference table.”

The corner of her mouth twisted up into a wry, almost mocking smile. “I mean that I cannot call you that because it’s not your name.”

Loki froze, staring at her a moment. Those instincts that had been roused the night before flared to life again. How could she know? There was no way for her to know. And yet the way she looked at him, the way she stood braced, as if preparing to fight or flee, they all said she knew she wasn’t dealing with a relatively harmless old man.

“You should have done better research before coming,” she continued, that smile still twisting her mouth. “Then you might have known that the Alfan royal family carries the gift of truth. We can’t lie. And we see the lies of others. Even through glamours.” She tilted her head. “Though yours is a very good one, Trickster, I still saw through it the moment you walked in the door last night.”

He _moved_ , crossing the room in a few strides. He heard the thump of her book hitting the floor just as his hand closed around her throat. There was a crackle of energy and he slammed her into the bookshelf behind her. He was surprised - and oddly impressed - to feel the pressure of a blade against his abdomen through his armor. “Give me one reason not to kill you right now,” he taunted, voice gone raspy and dangerous.

Her gaze never wavered from his. “Your glamour failed when you touched me. I could scream and have half the palace in here.”

“If you were going to do that you would have done it last night.”

“Exactly. So now, because you’re supposed to be very clever, you’re wondering _why_ I didn’t do it last night.” 

His eyes narrowed, studying her face for a clue to her motives. He could see the spark of fear in her eyes and her pulse was rapid against his palm. So she wasn’t a complete idiot. “And?”

“And finding out is why you won’t kill me right now.” She even smiled a little, managing to look triumphant.

He almost laughed. If he hadn’t already known she was clever that would have confirmed it. He released her throat, stepping back. He spared a glance down at the wicked looking blade she’d held against him. With a shimmer of gold light it disappeared to wherever she had it stashed, confirming she had some proficiency in magic.

She slid to one side, carefully putting a heavy chair between them. “I came here with the intent of gauging the political climate of the realms. Instead I’m bickering over mining rights with a Dwarf and trying to figure out exactly what I’ve done to annoy Ullr so badly.” She stopped and crossed her arms over the back of the chair, leaning on it. “There’s nothing Odin could have done for me and little I could have offered him. You, Trickster, are a different matter.”

He tipped his head back, pacing off a little square of the room, keeping himself between her and the door. “Is this where you try and seduce me? That might almost be amusing.” He had half a mind to let her succeed. Clever women were so hard to find.

She shook her head, looking almost disappointed. “Why is it when a woman tries to negotiate men always assume her opening offer will be opening her legs? It rather denotes a lack of imagination.”

He sent her a very irritated look, which she appeared to ignore, as her expression never wavered. “I’m struggling to think what an untried queen who can’t get her peers to treat her like an adult has to offer me.”

With a sound that was almost a laugh, she pushed off the back of the chair and walked around it. “My brother, spirits rest him, was an excellent soldier. A good leader. Charming to a fault. But he was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a strategist.” She sank into the chair in one smooth motion. “I stood in the shadows behind his throne, pulling strings and moving the pieces around the board. Such machinations are more difficult now that I’m in the spotlight, something I’m sure you’ve noticed. However, I still know all the pieces, and you don’t.”

As opening offers went, it wasn’t terrible. Her brother had been king almost two centuries, that was a lot of information to be had. Still, it was information he could glean himself, given time. “I’m learning more every moment. You’ll have to do better than that.”

She smiled a little, that odd, twisted one that held no amusement. “I suppose it’s possible that you intend to spend the rest of your life pretending to be Odin and ruling Asgard as a firm but competent ruler. I suspect, however, that you have grander plans. Eventually, you’ll tip your hand, reveal yourself and then I imagine you’ll find yourself surrounded by enemies. I’m offering you the chance to have an ally.”

Well, now she had his interest. It would be a mistake to let her see that, though. “I haven’t seen anything that would recommend you as an ally.”

Something in her face told him she knew he wasn’t telling the entire truth. Belatedly, he remembered what she’d said about seeing lies. He looked down and swung himself into a chair across from her in an effort to hide his reaction.

She steepled her fingers, waiting for him to resettle. “I have a resource rich, fairly secluded realm. It’s a good place to stage a war from. To hide if things go poorly. We can equip an army and we are an excellent place to find soldiers who would follow you just for ousting Odin.”

He consciously trained his face not to give anything away. She had managed to offer him the one thing he didn’t have and hadn’t found a way to get for himself. An army. One he would rule properly, rather than borrow from a madman with his own designs. He would have to revise some of his plans, push things back while he grew his forces. But in the end. . . oh, how much easier it would be.

He steepled his fingers in a mirror of her position, slumping negligently in his chair, legs spread. “And what is it you want from me?”

“Quite simple, really. Alliances work both ways. If I needed aid, I would expect you and Asgard to come.”

“Are you expecting a war to start?” he asked.

Her fingers flicked in an elegant, if dismissive, gesture. “Hreidmar wants my ore but doesn’t want to pay for it. I would not be surprised if he tries to take it by force. Ullr is up to something and he’s not sneaky enough to keep it under wraps for long. He may even confide in you-as-Odin.” She leaned forward a little. “An alliance means a second set of ears and eyes, something we could both use. And really, my needs for you will be far less complicated than yours for me.”

He could think of all manner of things he might need her for. This was not the time to speculate, however. “You seem quite certain in the grandiosity of my schemes.”

The smile twisted up again. “I have no idea what the specifics of your plans might be. However, I am quite certain that sometime around the invasion of Midgard with aliens on hover boards you lost touch with the concept of subtlety. So whatever you’re planning is sure to be _spectacular_.”

He actually laughed. He tried to give it a thread of mockery, but he was genuinely amused. “You make a persuasive argument,” he admitted. “What of Surtur?”

Another little half-laugh. “Oh, he’s far more your problem than mine. He and Odin hated each other. When he starts talking you’ll want to disagree with him as much as possible.” She inclined her head. “That advice is free. A show of good faith.”

It was good information. Small things like that were what would keep his charade going, prevent detection. It wasn’t something he necessarily would have thought of, and as such might have caused him to blunder later in the week. Perhaps there was merit to her offer.

Still, no reason to seem overeager. He gave her his wicked smile. “I’ll give your proposal some thought.”

She inclined her head and gripped the arms of her chair, hauling herself to her feet. “Thank you for your time.” She brushed past him on her way to the door. “Don’t forget to reform your glamour. I’d hate for our partnership to fail before it’s begun.”

With that, she was gone, leaving him half turned to look at the closed library door. As children, he and Thor had played a game in which they’d taken turns standing on the edge of a high balcony, toes just peeking over the edge. They would stare down at the long drop and whoever succumbed to vertigo and threw himself back first was the loser. At least until their mother had found out about it and they’d both ended up losers.

He was reminded of that sensation now. The first swirl of vertigo. The feeling that he was about to drop a great distance unless he pulled himself back. He didn’t know that any person - any woman - had ever managed to make him feel that way before. Her proposal was sound, it even favored him, on the surface. But he had long ago learned to listen to his instincts. And right now he was wondering if there was a trap here he wasn’t seeing.


	3. A Vow to the Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was kind of short and I'm in a good mood. So surprise bonus update! 
> 
> See you Sunday.

_A shady friend for torrid days_  
  _Is easier to find_  
  _Than one of higher temperature_  
  _For frigid hour of mind._  
\-- Emily Dickinson

* * *

The rest of the day was not nearly as exciting as the morning had been. The men strategized about the marauder attacks. Syn listened and ignored the glare Hreidmar was giving her. Dinner was uneventful, with half of them taking it in their chambers. After all day at the conference table they were rather sick of looking at each other.

Hilde sat up with her a while, going over the argument with Hreidmar and outlining some demands and acceptable concessions. Syn had no idea when the Dwarf would get the nerve to revisit the topic, but when he did she wanted to be prepared to actually negotiate if he was willing.

She didn’t tell her friend about Loki or the conversation she’d had with him. She was fairly certain Hilde would disapprove. Loudly and with colorful language. She wasn’t quite ready for that conversation yet. Besides, he hadn’t even agreed to her proposed alliance yet. No need to get herself in trouble if nothing was going to come of it.

Of course, if he _didn’t_ accept her terms he would likely kill her before the week was out. Which was a different problem all together, but not one Hilde would be able to help with. Unless she had learned some rather advanced fighting techniques when Syn wasn’t looking.

If she thought about it too long she could still feel his fingers closed around her throat. She had managed to keep her composure through it all, she was no stranger to death. It had been a very long time since it had been that close, though. And she had no doubt he would have killed her. It would have taken just a squeeze of his hand, a turn of his wrist. Death had always been a slow, painful slide to darkness. That was the first time it had stared her down and let her go just as fast.

Shaking off the grim thoughts, she stood to ready herself for bed. It would be another day of staring at old men across a table and choosing her words with unerring precision. One careless phrase and she might give Loki away. She had become a master of double talk and loop holes over the years, trying to see her truth curse as a challenge, a way of honing her skills. It didn’t mean it wasn’t exhausting when she had something she needed to hide. And the fact that Loki the Trickster sat in Odin Allfather’s chair was a very big secret to dance around.

She was pulling the covers back on the bed when the air in the room seemed to change. It was hard to describe exactly what the difference was. It was neither cooler nor warmer. It was a bit like the air immediately before a bad storm. When it grows heavy and thick; makes you want to pop your ears. Whatever it was, it made the hair on her arms rise and goosebumps ripple down her spine.

Slowly, still holding a fistful of quilt and blanket, she looked over her shoulder to find Loki lounging in the chair she had just vacated. He smiled when she looked at him. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile, and it sent another chill down her spine. He was a predator, red in tooth and claw, and the way he looked at her made her feel like something nimble footed and forest born. Prey that knew it was prey and had come to some sort of terms with the inevitability of it. 

No need to let any of that show, however. Prey still ran for its life, even when it knew it was futile. She let the bed clothes drop from her hands and straightened, giving thanks that she was still in her robe, covered from ankle to throat. She turned to face him fully, arranging herself into a reasonable facsimile of mild irritation. “It’s generally considered polite to knock before entering a lady’s bedchamber.”

“Impropriety is the least of my sins,” he assured her, still wearing the predator grin.

That was certainly true. She stepped to the end of the bed, closing the space between them slightly but giving her the bedpost to lean against if she needed it. “To what do I owe the visit?” She put a hand to her chest and gave a mock gasp. “Is this where you try and seduce me?”

The smile shifted slightly and for an instant she was afraid that had been his exact intent. Well, afraid was probably the wrong word. If one took aside the potential homicide and general madness he was an excellent specimen. Her bed had been empty for far longer than her six months of mourning and frankly, she’d slept with worse.

But he shook his head and gave a grand gesture with one hand. “I’ve decided to accept your proposal and agree to a temporary alliance.”

She clucked her tongue. “I don’t like the sound of temporary. Temporary sounds like ‘over as soon as it becomes inconvenient for you.’ We’re allies or we aren’t. No hedging, no loop holes.”

His expression shifted again, head tilting back slightly so he looked down his nose at her. For the first time since they had met he looked at her the way a man might size up another man and not as if he was humoring her in some way. She decided that was progress and crossed her arms, leaned a shoulder against the bed post, and waited. She’d thrown out her counter offer, it was his turn to call.

“Next you’ll have me swearing by the Tree,” he said and his tone made it sound more like a suggestion than a taunt.

Swearing by Yggdrasil was the oldest, most serious of vows, usually reserved for treaties and marriage ceremonies of certain realms. Only the lowest of scoundrels broke such a vow and it was generally believed that to do so was to invite misfortune and death. When her mother had spoken of swearing to the Tree she had called it Old Magic - the capital letters had been implied by inflection - and warned them to never take such a vow lightly. It was possible, given her truth curse, that she literally would not be able to break a vow given to the Tree. Tactical advantage was one thing, but it bordered on madness to go into such an agreement with a man like him.

But, then, perhaps not. The way he was holding himself indicated he was waiting for her answer. As if the idea unsettled him. Instinct told her he would hold to such a vow the way she would. And what would protect her better from the realms’ most notorious madman. A simple promise or a vow on the Tree? True, it would work both ways, but she hadn’t planned to betray him in the first place. She believed throwing her lot in with him was her best shot at keeping her kingdom whole and healthy. Wouldn’t it be a bit of a relief to know he was as committed as she?

“I’m willing if you are,” she said finally, watching his reaction.

There was none. He was even better at schooling his features than she was. The calculating look was back, though, and she had the distinct impression he’d just realized he’d underestimated her. She locked her limbs, leaned on the bed, and held his gaze until he spoke again.

“I swear by Yggdrasil,” he said solemnly. “By the root, the trunk, and the branches. We are allies.” She waited a moment, expecting a qualifier of some sort. _Until it becomes inconvenient_ or _until I decide otherwise_. Perhaps even _until something better comes along_. But all he did was lift his hand for her to shake.

Syn wondered idly if one day she would look back and pin this as the moment her life went wrong. But, no, it had far too much competition for that. This was just the latest in a long string of compromises and decisions she had made. Prey kept running till it died or became the predator. It was the only way to survive.

“I swear by Yggdrasil. By the root, the trunk and the branches. We are allies.” She stepped forward and took his hand. His skin was cold to the touch, but she would swear some sort of energy hummed between them. It was only for an instant, barely a sensation at all, but she felt it. By the faint flicker of his gaze from her face to their hands she suspected he’d felt it as well.

Their hands dropped and she stepped back to perch on the edge of the bed. He watched her as she did so. She thought he looked a little surprised, though at her or himself she didn’t know. He shook it off quickly, though, and the smile was back on his face. “I do have some information for you. About Ullr.”

Already their partnership was working in her favor. It was enough to lull a girl into a false sense of security. “Do tell.”

“He thinks you’re incompetent,” he told her, almost brightly. “He believes your brother was the brains and with him gone you’ll be in over your head and bring ruin to us all.” His tone had grown mockingly dramatic and she presumed at least some of it had been exact quotes.

She smiled. “Oh, good. That’s far better than I’d feared.”

His brow arched. “You’re pleased the man finds you incompetent?”

“Well, not pleased, per se. But there’s not much he can do about it. He can’t force me to marry someone. He can’t oust me from my throne. He’ll underestimate me in our every interaction and be utterly surprised when I beat him.” She crossed her legs, adjusting her robe to continue covering her legs. “I’m used to men underestimating me, Trickster, it’s a woman’s best weapon sometimes.”

He tilted his head a little, giving her that same contemplative look. “Well. Knowledge is my best weapon and I believe you promised to share some.”

“Of course.” She readjusted her robe again for lack of anything else to do with her hands. “Surtur wants your throne.”

The brow went up again. “He wants to rule Asgard?”

“He wants to rule all the realms. When Odin went into his sleep a few years back there were. . . concerns. Thor was exiled and you were considered too inexperienced. It didn’t take long for murmurs and whispers to start. Most of them were about Surtur and how very, very competent he was. I have no doubt most of them were started by him and his court.” She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Odin woke up and the murmuring stopped, more or less. But he’d already shown his hand. I’ve no doubt he’s waiting for his next opportunity.”

He considered that a moment, eyes narrowing slowly. “And you advised me to disagree with him as much as possible?”

Obviously, trust was going to be a long road. “I advised you to act as Odin did. And he and Surtur disagreed frequently. Which, if you think about it, could have something to do with why he would like to take Odin’s throne.”

That bit of logic earned her a little grunt of agreement. He looked in the middle distance a moment, rubbing his chin with his fingertips. “What else?” he asked after a silence.

Syn considered a moment, organizing the years of gossip and scandal she had in her head into some semblance of priority order. “Ullr’s son doesn’t want to be king, but he’s continuing to groom him for the throne.”

“What does he want to do instead?”

“Math,” she told him, unable to hide her smile.

Loki stared at her a moment. “Math.”

Apparently, he’d never been forced to play with Dallr as a child. “Yes. He loves math. Formulas. Algorithms. He can manage polite, neutral conversation for perhaps ten minutes. Then you either find someone else to talk to or brace yourself on far more information about numbers than you ever wanted to know.”

He stared another minute, then looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to use that to my advantage. I can use all manner of things against a man. Drink. Gambling. Women. Men. I don’t know how to use math.”

She rocked back a little, still smiling. “Neither do I, but I do find it hilarious.”

His mouth twitched a little and he shook his head. “What else?”

Syn stayed up half the night with Loki. _There_ was a sentence that took some getting used to. They discussed every tidbit of knowledge she thought might be of use to him. From grudges that went back centuries to far more recent bad blood. Some of it he knew already, he had been a prince in Asgard and, as such, not entirely ignorant to the ins and outs of interrealm politics. His questions were precise and cogent. After a while, she could forget who, exactly, she was speaking with. In truth, it was actually nice to talk with a man who actually treated her as an equal, someone with a brain. Someone who was neither awed by the fact she was royalty nor dismissive because she was a woman.

When they had covered all the summit attendees as thoroughly as possible he left in a shimmer of green without saying goodbye.

 The next morning wasn’t entirely pleasant. She didn’t like missing out on sleep on her most relaxing of days. Entering the lion’s den that was this summit on only three hours of sleep? That was a recipe for disaster. She downed a third cup of tea at breakfast and carried a fourth to the conference table with her.

If any of the men noticed her fatigue it wasn’t commented on. The marauder discussion continued on for a second day, something she didn’t have to be involved in. She listened with half an ear, sipped her tea, and watched Loki play the others.

He was more confident today, so he must have gleaned something worthwhile from their chat. He didn’t appear affected by the late night at all. He was probably one of those that needed little to no sleep. Her mother had been like that, up early and to bed late. She had teased Syn and her brother for their “lazy” ways. The memory caused a twinge of melancholy, made worse by the sleep deprivation and vague sense of isolation she felt at being the only woman in the boys’ club.

They were actually able to come up with some sort of long term strategy that made everyone happy and to celebrate Ullr had lunch and wine brought in. Syn had to give the man this, they were being extremely well fed. Lunch was an array of roast meat, a salad of field greens and berries, dark, grainy bread rolls and a sweet pudding covered in candied nuts. The wine was rich, dark, and heavy on the tongue. She wondered idly if Ullr was trying to get them drunk before springing some sort of ridiculous series of demands on them.

“Odin” was holding court - so to speak - telling some tale of valor on the battlefield. She had missed the first part of the story, so she wasn’t entirely certain which victorious war he was reminiscing about. She supposed if he ran out of steam she could chime in with one of her war stories. They tended to be less larger than life and more terrifying, blood stained skirmish, though. Probably not the right audience for it.

She was pouring herself a second helping of wine - if she was going to sit through testosterone and cock measuring she was going to do it with a pleasant buzz, negotiating be damned - when Loki coughed.

It was _him_ coughing, too, not Odin. She constantly heard his voice echoing beneath the glamoured voice of his father. It had been distracting at first but she’d adapted, especially with the long story he had been telling. But that particular sound had been Loki’s voice alone, no echo to it.

She sank into her chair, watching him. The Odin glamour looked fine, ghosting over his true face. She had to cross her eyes a little to focus on Loki’s face but what she saw wasn’t promising. He was sweating and flushed. He reached for his wine goblet and his hand shook a little. Something was very wrong and there was nothing she could do until it started to affect his glamour.

He coughed again while trying to drink his wine, choking a little. Ullr straightened in his seat. “Allfather?”

Finally. Syn stood, motions urgent. “Sire? Are you well?”

He met her gaze, both in glamour and truth, and she saw panic there. Ullr jumped up and called for servants as she started around the table to Loki’s side. Surtur had slowly risen to his feet and while she didn’t have time to properly study his expression, he looked puzzled and possibly a touch concerned.

She reached Loki’s side as several male servants strode in the room. He was obviously losing consciousness and her first instinct was to reach for him to see if her magic could help. Touching him, however, would banish his glamour and ruin everything. She was fairly certain it would fade when he lost consciousness, but there was a slim chance she could get him somewhere private before that happened.

“Take him to his chambers,” she told the servants.  
 At the same moment Ullr ordered, “Take him to the healers.”

She cast him a dismissive glance. “ _I_ am a healer.”

He stepped closer to her. “If you think I’ll let you lay a hand-”

“And we’re to simply send him to your healers? It’s at your table he took ill. How do we know you didn’t poison him and hope your medic will finish the job?” The servants hung back, watching them fight.

“How do we know you didn’t?” Ullr shot back at her.

“I didn’t poison him, nor do I mean him any harm,” she said, biting the words off in her urgency. “I’m incapable of lying. Can you say the same?” The older man glared but kept his mouth shut. She turned back to the servants. “Odin’s quarters. Now.” They rushed forward to obey her.

Before following them she glanced at the table. His wine glass had tipped over in the confusion, red liquid pooling on the polished surface. She picked up the goblet and sniffed the remaining contents. There was an odd, spicy odor that her wine had not had. It was vaguely familiar and she mulled on it as she tossed the goblet back on the table and rushed down the hall to the chambers they had brought him to.


	4. Star Berries and Frost

_She walks in beauty, like the night_   
_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_   
_And all that’s best of dark and bright_   
_Meet in her aspect and her eyes;_

\-- Lord Byron, She Walks in Beauty

* * *

The servants laid Loki on the bed and Syn could tell he was barely awake. The glamour was weakening and she could see flashes of his armor peeking through Odin’s more ceremonial clothing. She placed herself between the guards and Loki, shooing them towards the door. “In the interest of maintaining the king’s dignity, I think the less people tending the better. Please send for my maid, Hilde.” She got the men out in the hallway and slammed the doors in their faces. With a flick of her fingers, she tossed a spell on the locks so only she and Hilde could come and go.

She returned to the bed. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, glamour all but gone. It flickered out entirely when she touched him to start unfastening his armor. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “They’re gone.”

He didn’t respond, just gasped out a difficult breath. His eyes rolled up in his head and his body relaxed as he finally gave into unconsciousness. Perhaps there was a little trust, after all.

His armor was a pain in the ass to get off him. She’d have bet half her treasury that he magicked it on and off rather than dealing with all these clasps and buckles. When she did finally get him bare chested she found his skin hot with fever, his breathing harsh and stuttered.

The door swung open and Hilde stepped inside, slamming it behind her at Syn’s look. “I’m told Himself is ill and you needed me to-” She stopped short when she reached the bedside, staring at Loki. She sucked in a breath and Syn clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the building scream.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed at her friend. Hilde pointed at him, wide eyed and incredulous over Syn’s hand. “I know who it is,” she responded to the unspoken words. “I’ve known since the first night. Even he doesn’t make a glamour that can fool me. I’ve made an alliance with him.”

Hilde grabbed her wrist and yanked the hand off her mouth. “You struck a deal with him?!”

“Keep your voice down. And yes. We forged an alliance, agreed to support one another as best we can.” Hilde’s mouth thinned and she tipped her chin to the side in a disapproving glare. “Oh, don’t give me that look, he swore by the Tree. I can use whatever allies I can find and right now the _only_ one I have is burning with fever. You are going to help me bring it down. Go fill the bath with cool water.”

The other woman didn’t look happy about it, but she rushed to the wash room to obey. Syn turned back to the prone king and went to work on his boots.

She was yanking his pants off when Hilde returned. “Syn!”

“He’s not going to cool down very well in leather pants. He has small clothes on.” It was said with more confidence than she felt. He was distractingly pleasant to look at, even ill. She tried not to think of it as she and Hilde levered him off the bed and half carried, half dragged him to the tub.

The shock of the water roused him enough to fight them and she had to use her body weight to keep him in he tub. And even then it was a struggle until he slipped away again. By the realms, he was strong. Her skirts were soaked through by the time he was lying still.

“What’s wrong with him?” Hilde asked, standing by her side.

Syn swiped water out of her eyes. “I don’t know. He started to overheat at lunch. I thought I smelled something odd in his drink but I don’t know of anything that does this to an Asgardian.” Confident he wasn’t going to thrash again, she reached down and flattened a palm on his chest, sinking her magic into him in search of answers.

Unfortunately, it only brought more questions. “There’s evidence of a poison. I’ve never seen anything like this, though. It’s like it’s cooking-”

“By the tree,” Hilde whispered, voice full of dread. “There were rumors, but I never imagined.”

Syn looked at her, hand still on Loki’s chest. “What are you talking about?”

“When he was born. I remember there were rumors he wasn’t truly the queen’s babe. She’d shown no signs of carrying it and he seemed older than a new born.” Hilde was a few decades older than Syn and, by extension, Loki. She would have been old enough to understand the whispers of adults but too young for them to have stopped talking in front of her. “People said he must have been the product of Odin and some camp follower but-”

 “What does that have to do with-” Syn broke off with a cry as something that was both freezing cold and burning lanced her palm. She snatched it off Loki’s chest to find it gone black with frostbite. Behind her, Hilde gasped and muttered something that sounded like a proper curse.

Parts of his skin had gone blue. Jotun blue, lined with tribal markings. The color swirled over him, from blue to pale and back again. Syn had never seen a Jotun up close before but she knew the stories, had seen pictures of their frost burns in healing journals.

“He was born right around the end of the last Jotun war, wasn’t he?” she said softly.

Hilde nodded. “I never would have thought Odin, of all people. . .”

The final piece of the puzzle clicked. “Star berries.”

Her friend frowned at her, momentarily distracted by the momentous bit of scandal they had just uncovered. “The perfume?”

“No, the poison. That’s what was in his cup. Go to the kitchens, get me an ipecac and as much ice as they can get up here. We need to get his body temperature down as much as possible.”

“But. . . he’s Jotun.”

Syn looked at her. “He was Jotun when he took the vow to be my ally, too. It doesn’t matter what he is, I need him, so we are going to save him. Ipecac. Ice. Now.” Hilde nodded and headed for the door. “And another dress, one of the practical ones,” Syn added. She looked down at her wounded hand and shook it as if that would remove the pain. “It’s going to be a very long night.”

*

Loki was aware of hands first. Hands touching him, soothing him. When he was hot they seemed to cool him, when he was pained they eased it. At one point, they lifted his head and poured something cool and sweet into his mouth. He drank eagerly for a moment, then recalled what had happened the last time he’d drunk something and forced himself to open his eyes, reaching up to grip the wrist that belonged to the hand holding the glass.

Syn’s bright green eyes greeted him. She looked surprised and he felt her try to tug her hand away. He took a breath, struggling to find his voice. “Was it you?” he rasped.

Her brows went up. “That’s your first question?” She succeeded in pulling her hand from his, putting the goblet down on the bedside table. “I think I’m flattered.” She straightened, moving away from the bed he was laying on. “No, I did not poison you. And, as I have spent the last thirty-six hours struggling to keep you alive, a shred of gratitude might be in order.”

He sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing back into his pillows. Gratitude wasn’t in his nature, but, ironically, it seem ungrateful to say so. He listened to her move around the room, trying to recall what had happened. He remembered the luncheon, the warmth of the wine becoming oppressive, then feverish, then chokingly painful. He recalled Syn watching him from her side of the table and the sudden flare of concern as he’d started coughing. She had argued with Ullr, struggling to get Loki in privacy while he held onto his glamour with what little strength he had left. It was likely she had saved his life in more than one way.

Hands tugged the bed clothes off his chest and he opened his eyes to watch the queen of Alfheim place a cool, herbal scented cloth over his chest. He hadn’t realized he’d been overheated until the cloth started to cool him down. He sighed again, relaxing more. “How do you feel?” she asked quietly.

He cataloged his current health a moment, then responded, “There’s an ache,” while gesturing vaguely to his ribs.

“Likely from the vomiting.” He looked up at her, startled. She gave him her crooked, twisted smile. “Oh, yes, it’s been a very interesting day.” She flattened her palm on his abdomen and a gold glow gathered around her hand and sank into his flesh. It was warm, but pleasantly so, and an instant later the pain faded and was gone. Between that, and the cooling cloth, he felt far more clear headed.  
 “You said it was poison?” he asked.

The clarity must have come through in his tone because she sat on the edge of the bed next to him and gave him her full attention. “Yes. Something called star berry.”

Loki searched his memory but he hadn’t heard of it. Poison wasn’t exactly his style. “I’m not familiar.”

“It grows in Muspelheim. Harmless to the Muspelians, I believe they actually use it as an aphrodisiac. But it’s poisonous to the residents of other realms. It raises the body temperature of the victim.” She was watching his face carefully. “Usually Asgardians succumb in eight to ten hours. They fall asleep and don’t wake up.” She tilted her head and smiled faintly. “But you aren’t the usual Asgardian, are you?”

Fury gave him strength. He lurched forward, reaching for her throat. She flinched back and he missed, infirmity catching up with him. He found himself gripping her hand, which he now realized was heavily bandaged. He frowned, turning her hand over so he could unwind the bandages.

She stayed still, watching him as he revealed the black frost burn that marred her palm. He recognized the mark very well. “You changed when the fever grew too high,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if it was because you were near death or your body was trying to bring your temperature down.”

He found himself staring at the burn. She’d used that same hand to heal his ribs. “And still you did not reveal me.”

There was a smile in her voice when she answered, “You’re my ally. I wouldn’t be a very good one if I turned on you at the first opportunity.”

He would have. Even with the vow to the Tree. There was no vow or bond he wouldn’t shatter, given the right circumstances. He was fairly certain she knew that. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the things he had done. Surely she didn’t think a man who had turned on his brother and supposed father would hesitate to turn on her. And yet she had risked a great deal to protect him. Revealing him now would have been ideal. She could have plead ignorance of knowing earlier, blaming his glamour failure on the illness. Likely they would have all let him die.

But she needed him. She was in a weak position in the realms and she needed an ally. It was a political maneuver, nothing more, nothing less. There was no reason to think there was anything more to it.

And yet, he heard himself say, “I was taken as a warprize after the war with the Jotun. A political chess piece, to be used when needed.”

“I imagine it was difficult to grow up knowing that.” Her tone was softly sympathetic, but it did nothing to soothe the still sharp anger he felt when he thought of his origins.

“I didn’t grow up knowing it. I only discovered it a few years ago, when Odin could no longer hide the truth.”

She didn’t respond immediately and when he risked a glance at her face he found it twisted into an expression of horrified confusion. “They didn’t _tell_ you? You didn’t know you were adopted from a different race until you were an _adult_?” At his brusque nod she covered her eyes with her uninjured hand. “By the realms. I did not think that man could be more of an asshole.”

Incredibly, he felt himself smile a little at the reaction. He had never told anyone the truth of his origins before. It was. . . gratifying to have her immediately take umbrage to his treatment. The tangle of anger and betrayal and hate that so often clenched his insides did not magically disappear. But perhaps one small part of it loosened slightly.

He released her hand, leaning back on the pillows. “You should heal that, if you can. It’s a rather distinctive wound.”

She flexed her hand. “Yes. I was saving my strength for you.” Her fingers wiggled a little and her hand glowed gold. When the light faded there was still a red mark on her palm, but it could have been any sort of irritation. “It’s generally a bad idea to heal oneself completely. It leaves scars,” she explained.

He hadn’t realized she was a healer when he agreed to ally with her. That could be very useful. “When will I be fully healed?”

“Hard to say. I fixed what damage the poison did to your organs and your fever’s been down for several hours. Now that you’re awake I’d say the worst is over. Food and drink will help. For now, I would concentrate on putting your glamour back on. It will be dawn soon and the others will want to see you. I’m running out of excuses to keep them away.”

The image of her playing guard dog brought another faint smile to his face. He watched her stand and putter about, cleaning up the bandage he had just removed from her hand and taking the cloth from his chest back to soak in a basin. She was in a brown, homespun gown with no adornment or embroidery. Her hair was tamed into one long braid down her back, not twisted up or elaborately done. She didn’t look like a queen, just a tired, overworked healer with a particularly troublesome patient. It was an interesting new side to her.

He closed his eyes, focusing his magic to craft the Odin glamour again. After all this time it came to him as easily as breathing. It was a little more difficult than usual, but it did come, settling over him like a light, but unwanted, cloak. How he longed for the day he no longer had to wear the face of a man he despised.

When he opened his eyes he found her leaning on the end of the bed, arms crossed, watching him. “How do I look?” he asked, with a hint of his usual mocking tone.

“Not as good as it was before. But it will fool the others. Though if you want to discuss likely assassins I’d request you take it down before I go cross eyed.”

He let the glamour drop, relieved at not having to maintain it. He reached for the goblet she had been feeding him from before and sipped from it. “I’m at a bit of a loss. You’re the only one who’s admitted to knowing who I am.”

Her brows went up. “You assume you were the target.”

“I _am_ the one in the sickbed.”

“As far as everyone else is concerned _Odin_ is in the sickbed. Had you been Odin, or any other Asgardian, you would have gone to bed feeling a little off and never woken up.”

By the Tree, he must be ill to have not thought of that himself. “An old man dying in his sleep, no one would have questioned it.” He longed to be able to pace, but didn’t think he was up for it. He tapped his fingers on the bed instead. “So who has motive to want Odin dead?”

“Besides the people in this room?” she offered, making him smile again.

It was nice to have someone to talk to whose mind worked the same paths as his. Though someday he needed to find out what, exactly, Odin had done to her. “You said the berries grow on Muspelheim?”   
A nod. “Yes, but I don’t think Surtur is that stupid.”

“I agree. He’s far more likely to stab me outright.” He drummed his fingers again. “I’m willing to cross him off the list. That leaves the Dwarf or Ullr.”

“Ullr is more likely. I can’t think of a reason Hreidmar would try to kill Odin. He tries to stay out of realm politics. My brother told me he skipped the last two summits.”

She’d mentioned that the other night when they’d spoken. At the time he’d assumed the Dwarf had come about her uru and was willing to play diplomat for the chance at the ore. Now he wondered. “That begs the question of what motivation he had to come this time.”

Her eyes widened a little at that. She tipped her head back, considering it. “It’s certainly possible he has motive I’m unaware of. And, in a way, I’d believe him before Ullr. I don’t think that man can muster up the nerve to kill a wasp, let alone a king.”

Loki closed his eyes, resting his head back against the pillows again. “I’ll need to speak with them. Gauge their reaction to Odin’s continued existence. You said they want to see me?”

“They’ve been swarming the door at regular intervals,” she said dryly. “I don’t see why they’ll stop now.”

“Good. Let them come. You can be my lie detector while we ferret out the truth.”

Her voice sounded closer when she said, “What will you do when you find the culprit?”

“Kill him,” he murmured, voice slurring with the edges of sleep.

“Is that Odin talking or Loki?” she asked, almost amused.

“Occasionally we agree on such things.” If she responded to that he didn’t hear her. Only the warmth of her hands soothing his forehead and the tug of the sheets as she covered him.


	5. Kings and Queens Without a Pawn

_I was angry with my friend:_  
  _I told my wrath, my wrath did end._  
  _I was angry with my foe:_  
  _I told it not, my wrath did grow._  
\--William Blake, A Poison Tree

* * *

So rarely in life did one get to watch a master work at his chosen craft.

Syn considered herself adept at manipulation. It was a vital tool in the life of a royal, especially a young, female royal. One had to be able to convince the big boys that certain things were their idea. Otherwise nothing would ever get done. Her brother had been aware, in a vague sort of way, that she’d played him and the nobles, but he had trusted her and as long as things worked out and ran smoothly he’d left her to it. Pulling strings as queen and not advisor could be a bit of a challenge, but for the most part she felt she’d risen to the task quite admirably.

Loki, however, was an artist of manipulation. She’d barely had time to warn him the other rulers were coming to see him. Just enough for him to put on his glamour and arrange himself as befitting a recovering king. The others had burst in moments later and she had taken her place at the end of the bed, lounging against the bedpost to watch the show.

He just talked. Made observations. Asked pointed, leading questions. The other kings fell all over themselves to assure him that none of _them_ had _anything_ to do with it. He turned them on each other. Hel, by the end she wasn’t entirely sure _she_ hadn’t done it.

They all denied it vehemently and, to her surprise, none of them were lying. There were ways around her truth sense, of course. Loopholes, particular ways of phrasing things. It was even possible that if the culprit could have convinced himself he wasn’t at fault and so wouldn’t need to confess. They all knew she had it and could have - even in the midst of Loki’s mind games - phrased their answers accordingly. Short of touching them and forcing the exact truth out of them there was no way to be certain.

When he had them just about ready to confess to stealing sweets as children Loki cast her a questioning glance. She responded with a faint shake of her head and he scowled, though the Odin mask never wavered.

“You’re absolutely certain?” he asked, once the others had been dismissed.

“None of them lied,” she said. “That’s the only thing I can be certain of. But as you managed to get each of them to say some version of ‘I swear, my lord, I didn’t poison you’ we may need to broaden our suspect pool.”

“Excellent. That would only include a palace full of servants.” He huffed out air like a grumpy toddler and she looked away to hide a yawn. “Am I boring you?”

Her temper - which was famously long and iron clad - finally snapped. “I’ve been up two days taking care of you. I haven’t slept more than an hour or two at a time. Do find it in your heart to forgive me if I can’t manage perky and fresh faced.”

His mouth twitched. He’d dropped the glamour when the others had left, so she could see all of his minute facial expressions now. He schooled his face well, but still managed to be remarkably expressive. “I suppose you could got get some rest. You’ll be of no use to me half asleep.”

“Magnanimous to a fault, you are,” she muttered. “I’ve told the servants to bring you regular meals. I imagine you’ll be up and about tomorrow once there’s some food in you.” With that, and not feeling the need to bid him a pleasant day, she headed for the door with a swish of skirt.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

He had waited until she had her hand on the knob. She paused a moment, toying with the idea of teasing him. But she imagined gratitude didn’t come easy to him. And she was certain he hated feeling indebted to her in anyway. So, without even turning, she uttered a curt, “You’re welcome,” and left.

Syn dreamed of sailing. She wasn’t much of a sailor in the waking world, being prone to seasickness. But in her dream she found it quite pleasant; the water smooth as glass and the wind pushing her along at just the right speed. She could see a storm brewing on the horizon, though. As if there was ill times again.

Worry had just started to sink in when she heard Hilde calling her name.

She woke to the other woman shaking her sharply. “Get up, get up.”

Syn swatted at her futilely. “Stop that. What’s the matter?”

“The kings are meeting in a parlor. Not the fake-Odin, but the rest of them. They’re saying that since you offered up no promises of innocence to Odin this morning you must be guilty. They’re trying and convicting you in private. If you don’t hurry they’ll have your execution arranged before supper.”

“Oh for Yggdrasil’s sake.” She scrambled out of bed, reaching for her clothes. She’d been so tired she hadn’t bothered to change completely, just stripped her dress and corset off, sleeping in her under things. Fortunately, it meant she could redress in a few moments, with Hilde’s help. “Which parlor are they in?”

“The blue one, down the hall from the library.”

Syn swept her hair back in some combs, re-braiding it would take too long. “I’ll go down there and yell at them. But I need you to go to Loki and tell him what’s happening.”

“You want me to go talk to him alone?” Hide sounded like she’d asked her to go capture a viper for fun.

“He won’t hurt you. Just relay the information and leave. I don’t expect a rescue, but he needs to know the others are sneaking behind his back.” Not that a little support wouldn’t be _nice_ , but she didn’t expect it. She’d known from the start she was going to put more into this alliance than he would.

Finally presentable, she stormed out of her chambers and down the hall. She had worked herself into a proper pique by the time she reached the blue parlor, but took the time to pause outside and listen.

“. . . quickly. She’s sharper than you seem to think she is.” Well, it was nice to know she’d made an impression on Hreidmar.

“Bah. A few pretty words and you think the woman can out think a fox. You give the chit too much credit.”

Syn grit her teeth. Someday, she hoped to have reason to kill Ullr. There was no advantage to it now, other than the joy of the act. But someday, perhaps, she could see it done.

“Odin won’t be abed much longer.” That was Surtur. If he was joining in on this she was likely in real trouble. “We should start the wheels in motion before he has a chance to disagree. I think the old man is soft on her.”

Someone clucked his tongue. She was betting it was Ullr and was proved right when he said, “And Frigga not even cold. We’re doing him a favor, really. She’s obviously bewitched him somehow.”

Right, that was quite enough of that. She swept into the room as grandly as possible. “Well. I didn’t know it was the custom in Vanaheim for the accused to be tried and convicted in absentia. Am I required to attend the execution?

There was a moment of silence, while the three of them decided how to answer. If they would admit to their subterfuge or try to appease her. She waited, arms crossed, watching emotions play out over all their faces.

It was Surtur who spoke. “You must admit, my lady, it is a bit suspicious that you were the only one not to protest your innocence this morning.”

“I didn’t need to. I’d already told him I didn’t poison him and he believed me. “

“Well, what Odin believes and the truth aren’t necessarily the same.” Ullr sounded almost jovial, as if he was enjoying this. He likely was. Maybe she should _find_ an advantage to his death. She could deal with Dallr and his love of math much easier.

“I cannot lie,” she said through gritted teeth. “How else can I say that? It seems remarkably straight forward to me.”

“That curse was laid on your family centuries ago. How are we to know it’s even still in effect?”

“Well, seeing as how lying would literally _kill_ me, I don’t have any intention of spouting one.”

“Pity,” Surtur drawled. “It would save us the execution.”

“If you kill the woman who saved my life,” rumbled an irritated voice from behind her. “I’m going to be very put out.”

It took all she had not to turn and look at him. To stand there, spine straight and face impassive, as if she’d known the whole time he would come. The looks on the other kings faces made it bearable. Ullr and Hreidmar looked panicked. Surtur just looked amused, as if all of this was just a game to him, just some good fun. Maybe it was. It had begun to reach farcical levels at this point.

Loki-in-Odin’s-guise stepped next to her, leaning on a wicked looking cane he’d conjured up from somewhere. He spared her a brief glance and she gave him the slightest nod, which she hoped he interpreted as gratitude. He returned the nod before fixing his gaze on her three accusers.

“Do any of you really think I wouldn’t have thrown her in the dungeon myself if I thought there was even a chance she had anything to do with this? The same as I would any of you. It’s rather difficult to get away with murder when you can’t lie.”

Oh, if he only knew. She made sure not to react, though, striving for a look of innocent indignation.

Ullr’s tone was conciliatory. “Sire, we have no proof that she must tell the truth. It’s an old story and -”

“I have proof,” Odin said gruffly. Loki didn’t even glance at her and she kept her face neutral. The less she said the better, really. Her skin prickled a bit at having the glamour so close to her.

His proclamation flummoxed the others. Even Surtur reacted slightly. “What kind of proof?” Hreidamar asked.

“None of your concern.” Oh, good. Mystery. That won’t backfire at all. “Her word is good enough for me, it should be good enough for you. So, once more, for all of you to hear: My lady, did you poison me?”

“No,” she said quietly, glaring at the others.

“Did you order one of your servants to do so?”

“No, sire.”

“Do you have any idea who might have been responsible?”

She paused to think about that a moment. She had all manner of _ideas_ about who might have done it. But no proof. That was probably a no, then. “No idea at all, sire.”

The look Odin pinned the other men with was probably more intimidating when you couldn’t see Loki smirking beneath it. It certainly seemed to cow them. “I hope this is sufficient for you all?”

There was a murmur of assent that resembled nothing so much as a room of small children thoroughly chastised for misbehavior. Odin nodded sharply and finally looked at her. “With that settled, escort me back to my room.”

“Yes, sire,” she murmured, bobbing a little curtsey. She made a show of hovering at his side, carefully not touching him, but hands at the ready in case he lost his balance. He seemed to be playing up his infirmity and she was happy to go along with the charade.

“I feel as if I should applaud,” she said once they were in the hallway and out of earshot. “Or would that be unseemly?”

“In an alliance less than a week and you’re already such trouble.” This with a rather self satisfied smile.

“Your rescue was much appreciated,” she told him.

“Hmph. Who was the simpering woman you sent to fetch me?”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Hilde. And she doesn’t simper. Please tell me you didn’t kill her. I’ll be extremely put out.”

“Not entirely sure I like having a servant know my secret.”

Syn waved a hand. “Oh, she won’t tell anyone. She’s loyal to me and afraid of you. Knowing the best secret in the realms and not being able to tell anyone is punishment enough, I assure you.”

She thought he might have chuckled a little, hiding it in opening his door and ushering her in. The glamour faded when they were inside and the pricks against her skin subsided. “While you were being unjustly accused I had a brilliant idea.”

More sleep would really have made this conversation more palatable. “A brilliant one? Do tell.”

He sank onto the bed with a sigh. She fought the urge to go and check on him. He was a big boy, if he needed help he could ask for it. “Our suspect pool was too small. We missed an obvious suspect.”

Lovely, he was going to draw it out instead of just spitting it out. “Who?”

“The berries. You said they’re used as an aphrodisiac. Anything else?”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Yes, cosmetics. There’s a popular perfume and for a while there was a lipstick with a small amount in it. It was supposed to make your lips look plumper but if you’re at the point you’re willing to smear poison on your mouth to look pretty I imagine you deserve what you get. Why do you-” She cut off and looked at him. “A woman.”

He grinned at her. “Indeed. One who might like to see Odin off the throne. A woman whose husband, as you said, could barely kill a wasp.”

It made sense. She was an ass for not seeing it earlier. How often had she complained people underestimated her simply because she was a woman? “How are you going to prove it?”

“I sent your maid to search her things. I’ve no doubt she’ll find some star berry perfume or perhaps some pure extract. Once I have that . . . well, that’s when the fun starts.” His grin sent a chill down her spine. She had no love for the queen of Vanaheim, but suddenly she felt rather sorry for her.

And she hoped to never have that grin aimed at her.

*

In the end it was almost anticlimactic. Loki had debated on how to best go about it. In the end, he decided Odin would have made a show of it - for evidence, see Loki’s sham of a trial - and dropped the bomb at dinner. 

Ullr had fussed a bit when he’d arrived at the table, as if he was still an invalid. The rest of them were already there, eyeing each other suspiciously. Syn was at her spot next to Surtur, dressed in a black gown embroidered with thorny vines. Her jewelry brought to mind the barbs of stinging insects. Someone was feeling a bit prickly about her own sham trial, apparently. The look she gave him carried unhidden curiosity. He gave her a little nod and wink as he sat and she hid her smile in her wine glass.

Ullr’s wife, Orri, sat next to the Vanir king, looking quiet and demure, as always. Loki tried to recall if he’d heard her talk at all this week and couldn’t bring to mind a single word. There were all manner of ways to be a woman in politics. Syn played the game one way and Orri played it another. Loki could respect that, even if he had almost been a casualty of her games.

After the main course was served he gave a nod to one of the servants, who then brought a small, covered tray to Queen Orri and placed it in front of her. She eyed it with suspicious surprise a moment. Then the servant lifted the lid and stepped back, revealing the little bottle Syn’s woman had found among the Vanir queen’s things. It was half full of a blood red liquid, clinging viscously to the sides of the glass.

The woman’s eyes widened slightly and even in the dim lamp light Loki could see the color had drained from her face. She didn’t utter a word.

Ullr looked at the bottle in utter confusion, then glanced around the room. “What is this?”

His reaction confirmed Loki’s suspicion that the man had had no inkling of his wife’s plans. He wasn’t that good of an actor. “Do you recognize the bottle, my lady?” he asked in Odin’s calmest tone.

She lifted her eyes and met his gaze. He had no good read on her and so didn’t know how she would play off the accusation. So far, she had proven herself rather clever, so he doubted she would try to talk her way out of it. But she might put up a token protest, for her husband’s sake.

“You had no right to go through my personal things,” she said calmly.

“You’d be surprised the rights the Allfather has,” he told her. “Especially when an attempt has been made on his life. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t personally go through them.”

“Orri,” Ullr said. He was beginning to sound concerned now. “What’s going on? What is that bottle?”

“Tell him what’s in the bottle, my lady,” Loki said, still maintaining a veneer of calm.

“It’s medicine,” she said smoothly. “For my nerves.”

“That’s a lie,” Syn said, reaching for the wine jug. Her expression was all but unreadable.

The other queen didn’t give her so much as a glance, still glaring at Loki as if she could scald him to death with her gaze.

“Looks like star berry juice to me,” Surtur said. He had spent most of this little intrigue with the attitude of a man watching a particularly interesting play. Loki thought perhaps he was caught up in the reveal of the Act III twist.

“That’s exactly what it is,” Loki confirmed. “The exact poison that almost took my life. It was found in Queen Orri’s dresser this afternoon by a trusted servant working on my orders. In its pure form it serves no purpose other than a poison.” He paused to let that sink in, then added, “This is your only chance to defend yourself, Queen Orri.”

Silence settled over the table. Ullr was staring at his wife with a looked of dawning horror. Surtur and Hreidmar were both watching the couple with unhidden interest. Syn was sipping her wine and watching Loki. He still couldn’t read her expression.

“You should have died,” Orri finally spat out. It was the first emotion she’d shown since this had began. “When your traitor of a son let the Jotuns in. They should have killed you in your sleep like the old coward you are.”

“Orri, love,” Ullr started, touching her arm. “Please-”

She shook off his hand. “No. For centuries we’ve lived with him as our ‘protector.’ Uniter of the realms. United by fear of your army. You can’t control your own children but you expect the rest of us to follow you? You should have died.”

He imagined if he was actually Odin this would all offend him. As it was Loki rather admired her moxie. She had a point, in a fashion, though best he could tell Odin ruled the other realms in name only. All the political decisions he’d had to make since taking on the mantle had been directly related to Asgard. If a figurehead made the woman that upset he shuddered to think what actual oppression might bring.

Still, they thought he was Odin and appearances had to be kept up. He lifted a hand and the doors were opened to allow his personal guard in. “Take her.”

Orri went quietly and with dignity, he’d give her that. She stood and let the guards shackle her before leading her from the room.

Ullr watched her go, mouth agape. Loki supposed he should feel sorry for the man, but mostly he found himself pitying Orri for having such a spineless husband.

The Vanir king turned to him. “Allfather, please. A little mercy-”

“She had no thought of mercy when she slipped poison in my wine,” he snapped. It was, perhaps, a little harsher than Odin might have been. But he had come close to death, he didn’t think anyone would be feeling particularly generous in those circumstances. Ullr was lucky he hadn’t killed her where she sat.

He stood. “She’ll face trial in Asgard. You’re welcome to come speak your case there.” Ullr nodded miserably and Loki turned, heading for the door.

“Don’t look so glum, Ullr,” Syn said, voice darkly amused. “After all, what is a king without his queen?”

Loki bit down on a laugh as he left the dining room.


	6. Heroes and Villains

_And soon to you, as you to me then, tendered_  
 _The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!_  
 _But that your trespass now becomes a fee;_  
 _Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me._  

\--Shakespeare, Sonnet 120

 

Loki sent the guards and prisoner to Asgard ahead of him. He suspected he wouldn’t exactly be welcome in Ullr’s castle for much longer. But he had to pack some of his things personally and wanted to give any of the other kings who wanted to talk to him the opportunity to do so.

Two hours later his luggage was on its way to the Bifrost site and no one had come to say a word to him. It was past time Loki took his leave, but before he did so he had one last task he wanted to see to.

Syn was sitting on the bed in her chamber, sorting jewelry into pouches to be packed when he arrived. Her maid jumped a foot when he appeared. He didn’t even bother to hide his grin at the reaction.

The queen rolled her eyes and shook her head, though whether the exasperation was for him or the servant he wasn’t sure. Possibly both. “Go get something to eat,” she told the other woman, offering her an escape. 

Loki watched the little redhead scamper past him, grin still in place. The door had clicked shut behind her before he turned back to Syn. “I think she’s warming up to me.”

She shook her head, but her mouth twitched as if she fought a smile. “You keep things entertaining, Trickster. I’ll give you that.” She stood, gathering up the bags of jewels. “How much of a sham will the queen’s trial be?”

“She did confess to a room full of realm leaders,” he pointed out. “I don’t know that her defense will have much to work with.”

“Will you execute her?” The question was as casual as if she was inquiring about the weather back home. And here he’d thought she might have felt bad for poor Orri.

Loki strolled around the end of the bed, watching her carefully stow her things in a small trunk. “Oh, probably not. I imagine Ullr will make some impassioned speech. Call upon his long friendship with Odin. I’ll be forced to appear swayed and simply lock her away for the rest of her life.” Syn glanced at him, one brow slightly arched. “The cells in Asgard’s dungeon are quite comfortable,” he offered. “I know from personal experience.”

Now she did smile, just slightly, but with real humor, before turning back to her packing. “Come to say goodbye, then?”

He should kill her. The thought had come and gone several times in the last few days. He’d decided not to after she’d nursed him through the poisoning; repaying healing with death seemed impolite at the very least. But it came to him again now. It would be so easy. Snap her neck and leave. He’d be back in Asgard before she was found. Try to do away with the maid as well. Or maybe he’d let her live, knowing the truth and that no one would believe her if she tried to reveal him. No one would be able to trace it back to him. Maybe he could pin it on Ullr. Vengeance for her little jab at the table this evening.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, she went quite still, hands hovering over the trunk. Slowly, she turned her head, back straightening. The smile was gone, brow no longer hiked up. She just watched him, expression expectant. Waiting for the blow. No, waiting for his first move.

And that was why he wouldn’t kill her. Well, and partially the saving his life, he wasn’t quite so far gone that he couldn’t feel basic gratitude for such a thing. But mostly it was this. She’d known he was thinking of killing her. Had read it in his face or his posture. And rather than run or reach for a weapon or start begging for her life she just watched him. Waiting for his move and her opportunity to counter it.

It would be a crime beyond even him to destroy an opponent like that.

He watched her relax even as he made the decision not to harm her. He couldn’t help but ask, “Do you read minds, along with your other talents?”

She smiled a little, hands moving again, sorting the things in her trunk. “You had a certain predatory look about you all of a sudden. It seemed prudent to be on alert.” She glanced over at him. “Prey knows when the hunter’s on the move, or it doesn’t last very long.”

Moving deliberately slow, he paced the width of the bed, drawing a little closer to her. “You’re far too fierce to be prey, my dear.”

“Prey can be quite fierce,” she told him, moving to the armoire to take down the last of the dresses hung there. “Deer fight with horn and hoof. Rabbits with tooth and claw. Even a mouse caught by a snake will try to run from the poison in its veins. Clever prey makes for smarter predators.” The dresses went into the trunk one at a time, with a layer of plain white muslin between them. “That wasn’t the first time we’ve come to that particular crossroad. I sincerely doubt it will be the last.” She straightened to look at him, brushing her hands off. “I had a good idea of who and what you were when I made our alliance.”

Loki stopped his pacing, leaving them a scant few feet apart. If he leaned and stretched he could have touched her. “And if I ever make the other choice?”

The humorless, twisted smile curled her mouth. “Then I suppose we’ll find out how sharp my claws can be.”

He didn’t want to like her. Life was so much easier if he kept everyone at a distance. It helped that everyone he had ever thought to care about was dead or thought him dead. A political alliance was supposed to be a simple thing. It didn’t require or encourage attachment. He didn’t think he would need to be reminded of that, but she had a remarkable talent for getting under his skin. It would be better when they were realms apart. These little verbal sparring matches would end and he could go back to the way he was before.

That thought was comforting enough he allowed himself to ask a question that had been nagging at him almost since he’d met her. “Might I ask an impertinent question?”

“Do you ask any other kind?” 

Yes, a little distance would probably do them both good. “Did you have anything to do with your brother’s death?”

Her hands fisted and for an instant he thought he might get a glimpse of her claws, after all. When she answered her voice was very soft. “No. I did not.”

It was the answer he’d expected. She was too practical to make such a move without considering the ramifications. “Ah, yes, of course. You preferred moving behind the scenes, not having the crown yourself.”

She finally looked at him and her expression was incredulous. “Well, yes, that. But also, I loved him. He was my brother. For a very long time he was all I had.” She shook her head sharply and looked away, blinking rapidly. “I may think my realm’s mourning rituals are stiff and arbitrary, but that doesn’t mean my grief isn’t genuine.”

_That_ had not been expected. She was full of surprises. “Then that begs the question, what happened to the man who killed him?”

The skin around her mouth tightened. “He was banished from Alfheim.”

“Not executed?”

“Cooler heads prevailed,” she replied, voice clipped and angry.

He had a sudden image of her lunging at some poor fool, slim fingers wrapped around a dagger, or perhaps hooked into claws, being held in check by stuffy old men who had no idea what the need for vengeance felt like. He wondered if the man who had killed the king knew how close he’d come to death. If he would have preferred it to banishment.

“There’s nothing stopping you from finishing the job now,” he offered.

She made a quiet sound that would have been a laugh had it been less bitter. “I could. He’s on Midgard. In a quiet seaside village on an island in the North. There are a hundred ways I could kill him and no one would ever know what had happened. But something always stops me.”

Something in her tone sounded oddly familiar. “Let me guess. Your brother wouldn’t like it.”

Now she smiled. “Yes. Oh, you’re lucky it was me here this year and not him. He’d had turned you in in a heartbeat. Drawn his sword and demanded you reveal yourself.” She shook her head. “Boe cared deeply for right and wrong. Fairness. He was a hero always looking for a villain.”

Loki moved a little closer to her. “And were you never tempted to become his villain?”

She looked at him and for a moment he felt a very strong pull to her. Like a moth to a flame, or perhaps a moon in orbit. 

“I don’t think there are any villains,” she said softly. “Not the way most people mean. There’s just people with different priorities. Motivations. And they come at cross purposes.”

Her words struck him somewhere deep inside. Reminded him how very dangerous she was. There was no room in his life - his plans - for attachment. Still, he’d enjoyed the talk, in some way. He reached out and took her hand, bringing it up to brush his lips across her knuckles. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he murmured over her hand.

There was something bright and unreadable in her eyes. She stroked her thumb against his hand where he still held it. “And you, Trickster.” She tugged lightly and he released her. “Do come and visit if you have need of me. I don’t imagine I’d be hard to find.”

If he was smart - and he most certainly was - he would never see her again. So he simply sketched a slight bow and took his leave.

* * *

**End Part One**


	7. A Favor for the Trickster

_O thought, fly to her when the end of day_  
 _Awakens an old memory, and say,_  
 _'Your strength, that is so lofty and fierce and kind,_  
 _It might call up a new age, calling to mind_  
 _The queens that were imagined long ago,_  
\--William Butler Yates, Old Memory

_Three Months Later_   
_Palace of the Alfan Queen, Capital City, Alfheim_

Never had Syn hated her mourning weeds more than with the arrival of spring. The weather had warmed, the frost and snow melted into fresh rains and warm days. And still she was draped in heavy, dark colors and thick fabrics. True, she was less than two months from the anniversary of Boe’s death and thus could move on to slightly brighter colors. Jewel tones and geometric patterns rather than naturalistic ones. Such clothes weren’t exactly her style, though, and it didn’t seem worth having them made when she was so close to the end of mourning.

So here she sat in her private office, draped in a plum colored gown, bare feet propped on her desk. There was a floral scented breeze winding through the window and other than the occasional scuff of a servant’s shoes in the hallway the palace was relatively silent. It was her favorite time of day; after supper yet not quite time to sleep. It was a comfortable time. Quiet without being lonely, calm but with no reason to be silent. It was when she got most of her work done.

Say what you would about full skirts, they did provide quite a bit of lap acreage. She had the geological surveys for the new uru mine spread out over her legs, along with personal reports from the Lord who owned the land and the foreman of the prospecting dig. Hreidmar’s latest proposal sat on her desk. She had resisted putting her feet on it, but only just.

The air changed suddenly, though she couldn’t put her finger on how. It might have been the sudden taste of winter mixed with the jasmine and lavender coming through the window. Or the faint prickle against her skin, the scent of the wolf caught by the rabbit. Whatever it was, it was enough of a warning that when Loki materialized in the chair across from her with a faint pop of displaced air she didn’t even flinch.

“I need your help,” he said without any preamble.

“Hello, Loki. It has been a while. I’m doing quite well, thank you. Yourself?” This without looking up from her papers, pen twirling through her fingers.

He huffed out an irritated breath. “If you expect me to abide by niceties this arrangement is never going to work.”

She smiled a little and looked over at him. He was dressed in his leathers, though without the metal accents and decoration he had usually worn on Vanaheim. Perhaps this is what passed for his casual clothing. “How may I be of service?” she asked politely.

“Thor is coming to visit.” He said it as if announcing the date for Ragnarok.

Syn looked back at her reports. “If you haven’t managed to kill him after all this time, I don’t think I’ll have any better luck.”

That comment caused him to make a noise that was almost a growl and she looked up again in surprise to find him glaring at her murderously. She stared him down a moment, brows arched, until the tension passed. “Fine. Thor is going to visit you. I am failing to see the crisis.”

“He is coming to see Odin, not me. He wants to spend a week with his father. I can’t fool him for an entire week, he knows me too well. I’m bound to slip up and I’m sure you can imagine what will happen after that.”

The mind boggled at the implications. She imagined the halls of Asgard would quake with the ensuing battle. “I see the crisis now.” She tapped her pen against the edge of the desk, turning the issue over in her mind. “You need a distraction.”

His look indicated this was not as helpful as he’d hoped she’d be. “A distraction.”

“Yes. You want something to distract your brother so he won’t take note of any minor mistakes you make.” She leaned back in her chair. “It’s like any other trick you ever played on him. You need something to keep him from looking at the strings.”

He tilted his head, expression indicating she at least had his attention. “What did you have in mind?”

“Something to take the focus off talking. My father used to plan a hunt when irritating guests were visiting.”

Loki waved a hand, leaning back in his seat. “We used to go hunting together as youths. It would make revealing myself more likely, not less.”

That sliver of personal information was filed away and she reconsidered the problem. “You could throw a tournament or a festival. A ball or two. Do you have any particularly obnoxious nobles or distant relatives who could visit at the same time?” She glanced at him to find him watching her with an odd, unsettling smile on his face. “What?” she asked warily.

The smile resettled into something between thoughtful and smug. Only he could manage that particular combination. “What are you doing next week?”

“Running my realm,” she said immediately. She didn’t like where this was going one bit.

“Surely a vacation -”

“No.” He scowled at being cut off but she persisted. “That’s a terrible idea. _I can’t lie_. I am the last person you’d want helping trick someone.”

“You managed quite well at the summit. No one suspected a thing.”

“They had no reason to. And may I remind you that you were half dead or bed bound for most of the trip?”

He got to his feet to stroll around the room. “It’s perfect. I can tell him you’re a new royal I’ve taken under my wing. Odin has taken under _his_ wing.” It was good to know he got a bit tangled in the tenses as well. “It would give me an excuse to speak with you in private and-”

Syn folded her hands in her lap, rocking her chair back on two legs. “You know he’ll think we’re having an affair.” Loki froze in his tracks and turned to look at her in abject horror. It took all she had not to laugh. “I find it as distasteful as you do but it _is_ the obvious assumption. Recently widowed king. Young, pretty queen that he has some amount of power over. Wouldn’t _you_ make the connection?”

“Well, yes. But still - I wouldn’t - It’s _Odin_.”

Never before had she had to break the news to someone that their parent had, in fact, had sex. Apparently, she had found Loki’s last little shred of innocence and stripped it away. That probably made her a bad person. “Perhaps you have a better grasp on why I might be reluctant to help? A girl must think of her reputation.”

He gave himself a little shake. “Especially pretty girls?” he asked, a thread of teasing in his tone. Good to know he recovered from paradigm shifts quickly.

“I’ve been told I’m rather pleasant to look at,” she admitted in a stage whisper.

It looked like he was fighting a smile before he turned away to look at the room. He seemed to need a moment to collect himself, so she went back to her reports. She was going to get this done before bed, interrupting madmen be damned.

“Why, in all the realms, is your office covered in weaponry?”

Syn glanced at him, then at the wall behind her, which was, in fact, covered in various swords and shields. There was a rack of staves and halberds to her right. “Are you insinuating a woman might not have an unhealthy obsession with things that can kill you?”

He looked at her, hands folded behind his back. “I think you have far subtler ways of fighting your battles.”

Such a flatterer when he wanted to be. “They’re my brother’s. It was his office and I’m not allowed to redecorate until mourning is over.” She looked back at the swords again. “I might let some of them stay.”

“Do you know how to use any of them?” he asked, strolling towards the rack and inspecting one of the halberds.

“Of course. One can’t fight all her battles with words,” she added at his arched brow. She dropped her feet off the desk and rummaged in a drawer. “I wasn’t always decked in silk and taffeta.” She tossed him a small framed portrait of her and her brother, which he caught with ease.

He studied the picture with interest. It was her and Boe, a few months before they’d won back the throne. They were both decked out in their armor and he sat cleaning his sword while she leaned on her staff above him, saying something that had made him smile. She’d found the frame in his things after his death. Before that she hadn’t known it existed. Finding it had been the only time she’d allowed herself tears at his death. A queen did not cry.

“You fought a war?” Loki asked, frowning a little at the image. 

“I led a revolution,” she corrected. “Odin stole the throne from my father and placed a steward in his stead. My brother and I righted the wrong.” It was much more complicated than that, of course. She had neatly skimmed over the slaughter of her parents, the centuries spent living as a pauper. Such details ruined the cleanliness of the tale. No one wanted reality in their grand legends.

Loki tossed the picture back to her and she tucked in away in the drawer again before closing it with her hip. “Admittedly, it’s been two centuries since I had to wield a weapon in battle. I imagine I still know which end goes in my opponent.”

He smiled at that, eyeing the weapon rack again. “I’m sure you were quite the Valkyrie.” She couldn’t read his tone, didn’t know if he was mocking or serious.

Best to let it slide. It had been a rather pleasant conversation so far, no point in riling tempers if she didn’t need to. “I am sorry I can’t be of more help,” she offered, surprised at the truth of it. “But I do think one subterfuge a year may be my limit. I’d hate to be the thing that tips your hand.”

His expression was very near a pout, but he gave a little nod and even managed a negligent shrug. “I suppose I’ll think of something. It’s only a week. I can manage to survive a week.

*

The thirty hours since Thor’s arrival had been the most stressful of Loki’s life.

Well, all right, that was a touch hyperbolic. Unspeakable torture at the hands of a mad Titan had been a bit worse. And there was the time he’d been in his mother’s room and broken her perfume bottle and tried to hide it and spent a week waiting for her to find out and punish him. That had been fairly awful, as well. But this, this was pretty bad.

It wasn’t just having to listen to his brother discuss Midgard and Jane and her work and his friends and feign at least the polite interest he thought Odin would have managed. It wasn’t just carefully measuring and choosing his every word to be as authentically Odinesque as possible. It wasn’t even trying to devise entertainments for them that Thor would expect to come from his father. It was all of it, all at once, plus playing Odin for the servants and advisors as he normally did. It was exhausting.

Attempting a coup and conquering Midgard had been child’s play compared to the multifaceted charade he was currently engaged in.

They were at luncheon, bandying about ideas for the afternoon’s entertainment. What exactly did an aging king _do_ with his slightly wayward son? He was too old to spar with. Odin hadn’t been much of hunter and Loki still thought he was likely to slip up while doing such a familiar activity, but it was only the second day and he was getting slightly desperate.

A side door opened and a servant entered, walking almost soundlessly across the hall to speak in his ear. “Forgive me, sire, but the queen of Alfheim has just arrived with her. . . entourage and insists on seeing you.”

Relief flooded him. He didn’t know what had changed her mind, but if it bought him even a moment of respite from play acting for Thor he would gladly accept it.

He cleared his throat and stood. “Of course. I’ll greet her in the throne room.” The servant rushed off as Thor got to his feet.

His brother fell into step beside him as he headed towards the throne room. “The queen of Alfheim? I thought they were ruled by a king.”

Well, good to know Thor had been a behind in his interrealm politics as Loki was. Though he didn’t have the excuse of a trip through the abyss and a year in prison. “He died,” he said, Odin’s voice gruff and free of sympathy. “An accident almost a year ago. His sister took over. Young, younger than you, I believe. We met at the summit in the winter.” He wanted to explain more, to set up the foundation and scaffolding of the story so that Syn could slip into it easily. But Odin wasn’t precisely verbose and she needed the freedom to twist the truth on her own. He had no idea what the repercussions were for her lying, but the less lies he told on her behalf the better.

He had barely taken his seat on the throne, Thor by his side, when she appeared at the far end of the hall, trailed by what had to be a dozen liveried servants. She was bedecked in the most elaborate gown he had ever seen her in, bright red with white and gold inlays and accents. She strode down the hall with long, graceless strides and waved brightly when she was halfway there.

“Your majesty,” she said in a bright, gratingly accented voice. “I apologize for the unannounced visit but you _did_ say I was welcome to drop in and well, here I am.” She reached the base of dais and he saw most of her fingers were decked with large, borderline gaudy rings. Gold bracelets marched up her right arm. They clattered when she covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh, but you already have company. Forgive me for the intrusion.”

This was not the well spoken, cunning woman he has seen at the summit. It wasn’t even the slightly brasher, yet still clever, queen he’d spoken with in her weapon encrusted office a few scant days ago. For a moment he was utterly baffled, until he remembered her own words from that conversation.

_”Do you have any particularly obnoxious nobles or distant relatives who could visit at the same time?”_

His Odin glamour remained entirely passive but his true face broke into a wide grin. By the tree, she was clever. A distraction, she’d said. Distracting she certainly was.

He gestured slightly at Thor. “My son, Thor Odinsson. Thor, may I present Her Majesty, Queen Syn the Truthful, of Alfheim.”

Thor bowed properly. “Your grace.”

She waved her hands as if shooing gnats away and managed to climb the handful of steps to take his hand. “Oh, no need to be so formal. We’ve met before, you know. When we were children.” Loki saw Thor try to hide his confusion, knew she saw it as well, but she barreled on. “You and my brother seemed fast friends by the end of the visit but you insisted on calling me a brat.” Her lower lip stuck out. “And you’ve never apologized.”

“I-” Thor glanced at Loki for help and he tried to arrange Odin’s face into a sympathetic expression.

His brother looked back to Syn. “Well, allow me to apologize now, your grace.”

“Such manners!” She smiled prettily, somehow managing to look completely vapid. “I can see the years have been very good to you.” This with a blatant look up and down his brother’s frame, much to Thor’s discomfort. Loki was beginning to worry he was going to rupture something in his attempt not to laugh.

Thor cleared his throat and turned to Loki. “Father, I believe I’ll go out for that ride I had discussed with you at lunch.”

“Of course.” He waved a hand in dismissal. Thor bowed to him, then Syn and made his way down the stairs.  
 Syn watched him go, half turning to keep him in her peripheral vision. Then she looked back at Loki and the vapid expression was gone, replaced with her wry smile. She gave him a broad wink and he risked grinning at her widely.


	8. The Queen's Garden

_Here is a brighter garden,_  
 _Where not a frost has been;_  
 _In its unfading flowers_  
 _I hear the bright bee hum:_  
 _Prithee, my brother,_  
 _Into my garden come!_  
\-- Emily Dickinson, There is Another Sky

 

Thor lasted two days. Two days of grating accent, comments on the border of too-loud and almost rude. Two days of flirting that was as awkward as it was inappropriate. Two days of Syn’s vapid, flighty, obnoxious noblewoman act.

 It was far longer than Loki would have predicted.

“Going so soon?” Syn chirruped at supper that second day. “Why it seems I’ve only just arrived. We’ve barely had a chance to speak.”

Loki had to admit, he rather admired his brother’s self restraint. Perhaps time on Midgard had done him some good. Thor bowed low to her. “My regrets, your grace. But other matters pull me back to Midgard.”

She stuck her lip out in what was becoming an almost familiar pout. “I suppose I can’t keep your from your duties. I’d never forgive myself if I kept you a moment longer than you wished to stay.”

Thor bowed again and Loki fell into step beside him so as to walk him to the Bifrost bridge. “How do you stand her, Father?” he asked when they were out of her earshot.

Loki lowered his head in case his smile showed through to his glamour. “She is young and unexperienced,” he said, possibly the greatest lie he’d told in a while. “If I don’t guide her, who will?”

Thor made a noise in his throat that might have been agreement. Perhaps he sensed any more discussion would lead to comparisons to his own youth. Which it absolutely would. “I suppose there is potential in everyone,” was his only reply.

They said their farewells outside the gatehouse. Thor promised to visit again soon and Loki kept his reply as noncommittal as possible. He had a feeling Odin was about to have a great deal of out-of-realm business to attend to in the coming months. Thor seemed to leave in a decent mood at least and Loki waited for the Bifrost to blaze and then dim before making his way back to the palace.

Syn was no longer in the dining hall when he returned. He found her in the king’s private antechamber instead, pouring herself a goblet of wine. A glance at the bottle told him it was from the king’s personal stash. He dropped his glamour as he closed the door behind him and strolled towards her, clapping slowly.

She turned to look at him and smiled, her proper, twisted smile, not the wide-eyed one she’d been using since her arrival. She dipped a low curtsy at the applause. “You owe me,” she told him when she straightened, still smiling.

“I suppose so.” He prowled the perimeter of the room, forcing her to turn to keep him in her sights. “How on earth did you manage a performance like that?”

“The key word is performance. I never told a lie, I just acted differently and twisted a few meanings to suit my purpose. Had to suffer a headache or two, but the result was worth the price.” She draped herself sideways in one of the room’s oversized chairs, watching him move. He saw bare feet peeking out from beneath her skirts. She’d lost most of her gaudy jewelry, as well. “Loopholes, my dear Trickster,” she said. “My life has occasionally depended entirely on loopholes.”

It was good information to have. A glimpse of the edges and limits of her curse. For once, though, he wasn’t interested in strategy. For these few minutes he would simply enjoy the company of a fellow trickster. “You realize now I’m going to need you to come along every time he wants to visit.”

She sipped her wine. “Yes, I’m sure that won’t be suspicious at all.”

He waved a hand. “You give him too much credit.”

“You may not give him enough.”

“Don’t contradict me when you’re sitting there drinking my best wine.” As retorts went, it was not his cleverest.

She peered into the cup and took another long swallow, hissing a bit as it went down. “If this is your best then I should send you a case of mine. Nothing compares to blade fruit wine.” With a flourish she put the goblet down and twisted on the chair, getting to her feet. “And now that your unwanted guest is on his way I will take my own leave.”

“So soon?” The words tumbled out of him before he could stop them. He’d had no time to appreciate her, what with Thor there and her putting on her act. This was the first proper conversation they’d had and he wasn’t ready for it to be over. To be left alone in the sprawling palace with only servants for company and none who knew his true face.

Her expression was a blend of surprise and amusement. “I do have a realm to run,” she pointed out.

Turning on what charm he possessed, he strode towards her. “Surely you can spare another hour or so? Come, I want to show you something.”

She studied him a moment, cautious. Smart woman. He wouldn’t trust his motivations either, were he her. Finally, though, she slid her arm into his, fingers curling around the crook of his arm. “Don’t make me regret this, Loki,” she said quietly.

So rarely did she say his name, it cause an odd fission of reaction in him when she did so. This woman was so dangerous to him, to his plans. He had vowed to keep his distance, yet when he had come across a puzzle he couldn’t solve it was to her he had run. And she had solved it. At some risk to herself, if only to her dignity. He should send her home, as she had suggested. Instead, he lead her out of the room and into the gardens.

It was twilight, the light dim, sky bruised purple. Lamps lit as they walked, magic cast long ago flaring flames when it sensed their presence. He watched her as they walked. The plants around them caught her interest easily and she reached out to touch a blossom here and there as they made their way down the path.

“This was the queen’s garden?” she asked eventually, stopping to sniff a large white bloom.

“Yes,” he said, voice steady despite the memory of his mother. “Gardeners tend it well in her absence.”

Syn glanced back at him, releasing his arm to inspect another plant. They had come to a stop at the entrance of a small pavilion, lined with a rainbow of different bushes, all in various stages of bloom. “They tend it perhaps, but no one loves it anymore,” she informed him.

He had no response to that, so he stayed silent, watching her make a slow circuit around the courtyard. She was tactile, touching the different plants, pinching off dead leaves here and there. It probably said something about her that she touched these things so easily, but carefully avoided touch with other people. The plants, he supposed, didn’t lie, no matter if she touched them or not.

Odd, he hadn’t even considered her curse when offering her his arm. Dangerous. Very dangerous.

“Your mother had skill.” Syn’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Some of these flowers are rare and finicky. If your gardeners aren’t careful they’ll lose them in a season or two.”

“She wasn’t my mother,” he said. What he’d intended to sound snappish came out almost petulant.

She pinned him with a look, one brow hiked high above the other. “Did she quiet your fears? Soothe your wounds? Listen to your wild childhood tales?” He looked away, hands fisting at his side. “Did she ever call you out to her garden to see a new bloom, or a particularly pretty butterfly?” He refused to respond. Syn huffed a little and he caught movement out the corner of his eye as she crouched to examine a small bush. “Then she was your mother. To say otherwise is being contrary for the sake of it.”

“It was the last thing I said to her,” he said quietly. He didn’t know if it was the garden or the quiet spring air. Or if her truth spell was somehow contagious, twining around his tongue and forcing his confession. He hadn’t thought of his mother in months. Not willingly, at least.

He risked a look up to find Syn watching him, half in the shadow of the garden wall. “And what did she say to that?”

The memory still stung. “That I was perceptive about everyone but myself.”

A smile curled her mouth. “Your mother was very wise.”

_She would have liked you,_ he wanted to say, but stopped himself. He thought Frigga would have admired her strength, her ability to rule. She almost certainly would have enjoyed how the Alfan spoke to him. But, no, he wasn’t sure if she would have actually _liked_ Syn.

If she suspected the path his thoughts had taken she made no sign. “Children are made to break their mother’s hearts,” she said instead. “My mother told me that once, after my brother had fought with her over some petty thing or another.” 

She plucked a rich purple flower off the nearest vine and came towards him. “Your mother knew your true feelings,” she told him, tucking the flower into a grommet of his armor. “No matter what that silver tongue of yours might have said.”

 The gesture and the words were so like Frigga that for a moment he was rendered speechless.

Something in his expression made her tilt her head and smile softly. “Honestly, Trickster, does no one ever say anything _nice_ to you?”

“Why do you call me that?” he asked, voice rasping with unexpressed emotion. “It was not a name given to me as a compliment.”

She looked surprised, going so far as to take a step back. “I apologize. On Alfheim using one’s appellation is considered. . . friendly. I should not have assumed it was the same here.”

He shook his head sharply. “People call you Truthful? As a nickname?

She gave a little chuckle, turning to wander back towards the flowers again. “Not anymore. There’s no one left to call me anything but your majesty.” She was turned from him, but he saw sorrow in the lines of her shoulders, the dip of her head. “My brother used to call me Truth. When he was alive.”

The distance between them eased a little of the tension in him. “Truth. Seems such a prosaic term for you. I’d have to think of something grander. Veracity. Or Verity.”

Her nose wrinkled at the suggestion. “I can’t tell if you’re gently teasing or cruelly mocking.”

Loki shrugged. “The line between the two is rather vague, in my experience.”

“Both equally friendly, coming for you, I suppose.” It was said with a little smile as she turned back to the plants.

Friendly. She was probably alone in the realms in thinking he was capable of being friendly.

He should have killed her when they met. Alliances and armies aside, she was a danger. Anyone who knew he was alive and posing as Odin was a danger. It would have been so easy to kill her then, before he knew her.

No, that wasn’t true. She would not have been easy to kill. She would have seen him coming a mile away and done everything in her power to live. He was bigger and stronger and would almost certainly have won, but it wouldn’t have been _easy_. If she’d been a different person, perhaps. Dumber, slower, less cunning. But, if she’d been any of those things she’d likely have revealed him the moment she saw him, as she said her brother would have.

Advisor to her king. Hero of battle. She’d lived a life that might have been his path, had things been different. Very different. Perhaps he would have been happy with that. Or perhaps he would have chaffed against being in Thor’s shadow, no matter the power he wielded. It was all a moot point, now. The dice were cast and here they all were.

He thought of her tending to him on Vanaheim, her hand frost burnt. When was the last time someone had held his life in their hands and chosen kindness? True, it had been calculated kindness, but kindness nonetheless. She’d had half a dozen chances to out him and had chosen alliance every time. She had sworn to him on the Tree. And she had come to aid him even after saying no.  
 He should kill her. But he wasn’t going to. He should send her home and make an effort to never see her again. But he wasn’t going to do that either. He liked having someone to talk to. To tease or mock. He liked having a partner in crime to pull a trick on Thor, even if Thor would never know they did it.

He liked not being alone.


	9. Red in Tooth and Claw

_He did not wear his scarlet coat,_  
 _For blood and wine are red,_  
 _And blood and wine were on his hands_  
 _When they found him with the dead,_  
\--Oscar Wilde The Ballad of Reading Gaol 

 

Frustration bubbled through Syn like molten fire. She stalked from one corner of her sitting room to the other, fists clenching and unclenching. Two weeks. Two weeks past the end of her mourning period. That’s when the murmurs had started. The quiet little rebellions in the council chambers. A dozen old men sat at the council table and, apparently, at least one of them resented her position at the head of it.

She’d tried to be reasonable. To listen to the complaints and address them if possible. But when the complaints had begun to boil down to “You’re in charge and we’re not” well, then her patience had run thin. It had been child’s play to narrow down which of the lords was at the root of the dissent. Now all that remained was to deal with him. Swiftly and mercilessly.

Hilde had left her hours ago. She had no stomach for the kind of plans Syn had to make. Assassinations had been far easier when she was her brother’s steward. Men - or women - willing to do dark work were easy to find when one knew where to look. And Syn knew a great many places to look. Regrettably, none of them were suitable places for a queen to be found. She had not yet found a right hand who could be trusted with such a task. Servants surrounded her and there were a handful clever enough to make such a deal and not be caught. But she didn’t trust any of them with the knowledge. She would trade one problem for another and she didn’t make a habit of such arrangements.

And so she paced, frustration building, until she called for the only person she could think of who might be able to help her.

“Loki!”

She shouted it at the ceiling, feeling rather stupid. It wasn’t as if they had agreed to some sort of communication system. She was probably going to have to send a messenger to “Odin” and try to arrange a meeting that way. Which meant more time and more frustration. This just wasn’t her night.

“You bellowed?”

Syn couldn’t help jumping a little at the suddenness of the voice behind her. “I should get you a bell to wear,” she muttered, turning to face him. For once, he wasn’t in his leathers, but a more casual outfit of black slacks and a loose green shirt. He lounged against the back of her favorite arm chair, a faintly smug smile on his face. He arched an expectant brow when she faced him.

“How do you assassinate people?” she blurted out, frustration making her less than subtle.

The other brow went up. “Well, when you hate someone _very_ much-”

“Oh, don’t be clever.” She paced away from him, making an effort to gather her thoughts back up.

“If you didn’t want clever you called for the wrong realm leader.”

At the very least he’d be a useful outlet for her rage. She conjured the heavy stone book end off the nearest bookshelf and threw it in his general direction.

Of course, he caught it easily. He pushed off the chair, tossing the hunk of rock from one hand to the other. “I think I liked it better when you were afraid of me.”

“No, you didn’t.” She grinned at the flicker of surprise on his face. “How boring it must be for you. Everyone cowering. ‘Yes, sire. No, sire. Anything you say, sire.’” She waved a hand. “You need someone who’ll throw things at you once in a while.”

He threw the bookend back to her and she caught it, as she imagined he’d intended. “That being said,” she continued, watching him stroll around the edge of the room. “I am still a little afraid of you.”

“How very reassuring,” he drawled. “You could show it a little more.”

She grinned. “Nonsense. The trick of walking with wolves is not letting them smell the fear.”

He folded his hands behind his back, still strolling. “A wolf, am I? What does that make you? A rabbit? A deer?”

“You wound me, Trickster.” She realized suddenly that he had been stalking her, slowly closing in on her, causing her to back up. She planted her feet while she still had air at her back. “I like to think of myself as more of a viper. You can crush me underfoot, but I’ll go down _biting_.” She made sure to show plenty of teeth when she smiled up at him.

“Snakes can be charmed,” he informed her, stopping bare inches away from her, head tipped down to look at her.

Frustration forgotten, she leaned a little closer. “And wolves can be tamed.”

He chuckled a little, smug smile softening. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes as he studied her then. Then he asked quietly, “Who do you need assassinated?”

She sighed. “A lord. Lord Eoin. He’s on my council, a powerful man who runs most of the shipping here. He’s been quietly undermining my authority since I took the throne but now that my mourning period is over he’s made his attacks more obvious. I’ve attempted diplomacy only to be met with more pushback. Either I let him continue to chip away at my command or I dispose of him. He’s the first I’ve had to handle this way since I became queen and I don’t know how to go about it.”

“How did you do it before you were queen?” Loki asked, sounding honestly curious.

Talking this close was becoming too intimate, so she paced away to put the bookend back in its place. “It’s not hard to find rough men in the capital. Go to the right pub down by the docks and you can find a half dozen or more. I wore a simple dress and a cloak to hide my face. Sat in a corner until someone was curious enough to come over. To my knowledge, I was never recognized and I paid handsomely enough to guarantee silence if I had been.”

“What’s stopping you from doing the same now?”

“Queen has far less freedom than steward did. I can’t teleport like you, I’ll almost certainly be spotted going out and I’m far more likely to be recognized.” She shook her head. “Absolute monarchy is lovely, but I imagine most of my people would frown on my arranging murders.”

Loki tipped his head back thoughtfully, walking over to the windows to look out at the gardens below. Syn took the opportunity to study him. He’d visited her once since her trip to Asgard, to ask for advice on a boundary dispute, of all things. It had sounded like a very thin excuse, but she hadn’t pointed that out. She’d served him tea and pastries and they’d both acted as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. He’d never come out with why he’d actually come and they’d parted on friendly terms.

 This was the first time she’d called for him and she was a little surprised at how serious he was taking the question.

He turned to her and smiled enigmatically. “I’ll do it.”

Maybe not that seriously, after all. “If you’re not even going to _try_ to help-”

“I’m entirely genuine in my offer. I haven’t been part of a good intrigue in ages. Not since the summit we met at. You certainly know I’m capable of it.”

She shook her head. “Because no one will noticed the supposedly dead prince of Asgard stabbing an Alfan Lord to death.”

His smile widened into a rather wicked grin. “Just because _you_ can see through my little tricks, my dear. . .”

Of course. Sometimes she was thick, wasn’t she? She let herself smile a little, cautiously optimistic. “What is the going rate for royal assassins?”

Loki waved a hand. “We can discuss price when the deed is done. Do you accept the offer?”

She was entirely certain that payment would somehow come to bite her in the ass. But he had stopped acting like he might kill her at any moment. And they were already allies, what could he ask of her that she wouldn’t already be obligated to help with? So she inclined her head gracefully. “I accept.”

He clapped his hands together. Normally the gesture would have reminded her of a child being told delightful news. With Loki it was far more predator happily pinning his prey. He gave a low bow and said, “I’ll be in touch,” before disappearing in a flare of green.

News of Lord Eoin’s death reached her at luncheon the next day. She made the correct faces, said the right things as best she could. Sympathy flowers and fruit were sent to his home. It was harder to handle than it had been when her brother was king. No one had required her to react then and Boe had generally been ignorant of her behind-the-scenes machinations. No one had been required to lie who was incapable of it.

The feigning of grief left her with a pounding headache. She ignored Hilde’s pointed, disapproving look when she gave her herbs and a cloth for her head. She’d known what kind of woman Syn was when she came to work for her. There was no point in hiding it now.

Syn stayed up as late as she could in case Loki chose to visit, but there was no sign of him. Eventually, the headache won and she took to bed.

The next day she paid a visit to Eoin’s widow and son, who had been a childhood friend. The widow had taken to her bed, which Syn took to mean she’d had a good swallow of poppy milk and would rejoin the waking world when her healer thought her capable of handling reality again. The son, Lir, had been a playmate of her brother’s when they were children. She had no idea where he stood on her being queen.

He entertained her in a lovely parlor, decorated is Alfan blue with accents of white and darker blue. It brought to mind sea and sky, fitting, she supposed, for a man who had made his name and fortune in shipping. Lir wore all black, a small pin of his family’s sigil on his breast. Syn declined the offer of tea.

“We received the flowers and fruit from the palace,” he said, sitting stiff and formal. “I thank you for your condolences.”

By the spirits, just because she’d been responsible for his father’s death didn’t mean they had to stand on such ceremony. “Lir. If I remember correctly, you used to pull my braids and knock me into mud puddles. There’s no need to speak to me as if I’m your aunt.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m sorry, Cinders. It’s been that sort of day.”

She hid the wince at the childhood nickname. Too far into informal, but she wouldn’t correct him. It would be a short visit. “I understand. You should have seen the line of well wishers I had to thank after Boe died. I think sometimes the traditions leave no room for private mourning.”

Lir sighed. “Not enough, at any rate. I admit I envy my mother her. . . weak constitution.”

“I won’t keep you. You’ll take the entire mourning year?”

He nodded, swallowing and looking down at the highly polished wood arm of his chair. “Of course.”

“I will need to fill your father’s council position for the interim,” she said, lacing her voice with regret. “Of course, if you wish to fill it after the mourning we could hold a special session. . .” The trailing off was carefully pitched.

And he immediately fell for the bait. “No, no. I’ll have more than enough to do trying to run the ships. You know that’s where my head has always been. I’d be no use to you as an advisor, you know far more of politics than I do.”

Syn kept her expression sympathetic. “As you wish. Do you want any input in the candidates?”

He shook his head sharply. “Again, you would know better than I.”

Just like that, her troubles were done. With Eoin dead the other discontent lords would lack a leader. They might even suspect his dissent was connected to his death. She could appoint someone loyal to the position and further cement the council’s allegiances. 

Well, there was still Loki’s price to contend with. That could be a bigger trouble than Eoin had been. But for now, she was going to look on the bright side.

She reached out and clasped Lir’s hand gently. “I won’t trouble you any longer. If you or your mother need anything send word to the palace. I’ll help however I’m able.” And it was all true. Lir was a friend. As long as he kept to business and not politics.

He smiled and nodded and they said their goodbyes. 

She rode back to the palace lost in thought. Loki would want some sort of payment for his work. The fact that he had not named it before the deed was done indicated even he didn’t know what it might be. There was a finite amount of things she could really do for him. She supposed he could ask her to assassinate someone on his behalf. But with his illusions and glamours he was a far subtler assassin than she would ever be. She had already shown herself willing to help him distract Thor, though he might use this to ensure further performances. It seemed a rather paltry price for murder, though.

The afternoon and part of the evening were spent in meetings discussing potential new councilors. She had a short list of seven names when it was time for her to retire. Since she still expected Loki to arrive any moment, she chose the most conservative night gown she owned and donned a fur trimmed robe on top of it. Too restless to sleep, she conjured up a bottle of wine and two glasses from the cellar and found a chair in her private library, waiting.

He did not disappoint, appearing in the opposite chair just after midnight. Once again, she felt the faint prickle of winter on her skin just before the flare of green announcing his presence. She imagined he’d have conjured a crack of thunder had he been able.

“Are you content with my assassin skills?” he asked politely.

She finished reading the sentence she was on, then looked up. “Very. Fallout has been minimal and I’ll be able to appoint a new councilor to my liking.” She put her book aside and poured the wine, offering him a glass. “Thank you.”

His fingers brushed hers - deliberately, she was sure - as he took the glass. The fine crystal looked fragile under his hand. “Whatever my faults, I do pull off a good murder.” He sipped the wine and she saw his brows go up. “You’re right, this is far better than Asgard’s.”

Syn hid her smile in her wine. “I’d be happy to send a case over as payment. I’ll throw in some brandy as a bonus.”

“I admire your attempt, but I imagine you’d send me some in any case. People like to show off things they’re proud of.” He drank again, watching her intently. “I plan to ask for something far more dear as my payment.”

Standing slowly, she took her glass and book over to the shelves by the fireplace. Though it was fully spring now, the nights held enough of a chill to warrant a small blaze in the hearth. She slid the book into its spot. “Are we going to have a dance, then? You tease me about what your required payment might be. I fret and worry it might end up being something I’m not willing to part with. Enjoying my discomfort, you draw it out more and more.” She looked at him askance and hid her surprise at seeing he had gotten up to approach her. “It’s an old game, but I’d have thought it beneath your efforts.”

Loki took a spot at the other side of the fireplace, in front of the shelves holding Alfan histories. The book she’d put back had been poetry. The palace had a large, sweeping library, this little room was only for the books she - or the current monarch - held dear. In Boe’s time it had stood mostly empty. Her dear brother had been many things, a book worm had not been one of them.

“While I admit it might be an enjoyable game, if cliched,” Loki said. “I’ll spare you the turmoil. I know what I want.”

She rested a shoulder on the bookshelf, facing him fully. “And that is?”

He held his goblet between his hands, turning it slowly in his palms. “What if my price was a kiss?”

Her own goblet stopped halfway to her mouth. Well, he’d succeeded in surprising her. Which, she suspected, had been at least part of his aim. There’d been no shadow of lie on his face, but then he’d phrased it as a question, not a statement, and so lying didn’t apply. It was a loophole she employed quite often.

With effort, she kept her tone light and calm. “Well, then I’d say you were a poor negotiator.”

And that, judging by the angle of his head and the height of his brows, had taken him by surprise, which had absolutely been her aim. “How so?”

“To bargain for something that would be freely given? That’s a fool’s wager.” She smiled slyly and sipped her wine.

Loki took a step towards her, then another. The fireplace was not that large and with the third step he was right beside her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. “And if my price was more? What if my price was a night in your arms?”

The wine almost stuck in her throat. It had been a long time since anyone had been that blunt with her. He’d surprised her again. He trafficked in half truths and careful words as much as she did and with equal skill. She’d imagined his seduction - and yes, she’d imagined it, she was a healthy young woman and he had many assets in his favor - would be subtle and carefully plotted. He seemed the type to have you in bed almost before you realized you’d been coaxed there. It was a very specific game, one she’d rather been looking forward to. This was an entirely different equation. 

He was watching her intently, with a vague sort of caution in his eyes. As if expecting her to rebuke him.

She swallowed her wine and lowered the cup. “If you think there’s a price for time in my arms then I believe you’ve mistaken my profession for the oldest one.”

He groaned a little and she saw his hand tighten on his goblet. She worried a bit for her poor glassware. “That wasn’t an answer, my lady.”

She met his eyes again, saw the caution still there. And a sort of wild desperation that almost frightened her. She lifted her free hand and stroked his cheek gently. He blatantly leaned into her touch. Poor thing. She imagined no one touched him any longer.

“You’re talking in riddles and what ifs,” she told him, voice soft. “Why are you here, Loki? Why are you doing this? Why do you come visit me?”

“Your counsel is useful-” he started.

A shake of her head made him break off. “The first time, perhaps. But not the second time. Or the third. Now you come when I call you? Were you listening for me?” She stepped closer to him, so that the fur of her robe brushed the linen of his shirt. She hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t in his leathers again tonight. No more armor around her, apparently.

“Why are you here,” she repeated, then added in a whisper, “When did you stop thinking of killing me?”

His breath came out in a rush. He bent his head closer to her, almost touching but not quite. She didn’t think their clothing touching was enough to ensure the truth from him, but she seemed to get it anyway.

“You warm my blood, when I have always been cold.” His voice was rough, throaty. He held himself painfully still, as if braced for a blow. “You settle the demons in my heart, my mind. You are my match when I had resigned myself to a life alone. You’re a temptation I know I should resist but can’t help surrendering to.”

It was hard to breathe, let alone speak. She sent her wine glass back to the little table the bottle sat on. Then she lifted both hands to touch his face. “My dear Trickster, is this where you start to seduce me?”

His hands curled around her waist, a cool weight through two layers of silk. With a tug, he brought her flush to his chest. “My dear Truth,” he murmured. “I believe that’s what we’ve been doing from the moment we met.” Then he closed those last few inches left between them and kissed her.


	10. First Why, Then Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't follow me on Tumblr, I've finished the first draft of Masquerade, which means I'll be bumping up to 2x a week posting. Next chapter will go up Thursday.
> 
> This might not be the best chapter to read on public transit. I'm looking at you, marshmallow.

_The fountains mingle with the river_  
 _And the rivers with the ocean,_  
 _The winds of heaven mix for ever_  
 _With a sweet emotion;_  
 _Nothing in the world is single,_  
 _All things by a law divine_  
 _In one another’s being mingle—_  
 _Why not I with thine?_  
\--Percy Shelley, Love’s Philosophy

She tasted honey sweet and wine tart. She was warm and solid in his arms, her hands tangling up into his hair. Loki had imagined all manner of scenarios after he’d decided what his price would be. He had thought she would balk at his suggestion. Most well born women would, especially one from a conservative realm such as Alfheim. He had thought he would need to cajole her. To seduce and coax agreement out of her.

He had not expected her to meet his questions with her own. Had not expected her to ask _why_. He hated ‘why.’ His reasons for the things he did were his own; often twisted and complicated by his motives and demons. He owed no one the answers to ‘why.’

Save, apparently, for her. The truth had spilled from him almost despite himself. He would have liked to have blamed her curse for it, perhaps if he had been turned away that would have been the story he’d have told himself.

But he hadn’t been turned aside. Even now Syn pulled him closer, lithe body pressed against his. She shifted slightly, mouth opening under his. He felt her shudder as he slid his tongue along hers and heat began to build in his veins. Combined with the warmth of the fire, it was almost enough to make him dizzy.

He lifted his head, tugging her lip with his teeth slightly as he did so. “Bed chamber,” he demanded in a rough whisper.

She looked faintly dazed, but her smile was the crooked, sly thing he was used to. “You don’t want to tumble me in front of the fire?” she asked, watching his mouth. “Like a proper romantic villain?”

Even now she teased him. She pushed and danced with him, left him breathless. He was torn between wanting her to submit to him - just once - and just enjoying the dance.

He lowered his head and pressed an open mouthed kiss to her throat. “Bed chamber,” he repeated against her skin.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Directly above us.” Without moving his mouth from her pulse, he tightened his arms on her and brought them upstairs in a flare of magic.

Syn gave a little gasping laugh and clung to him, wobbling a bit when they reappeared upstairs. She blinked rapidly, looking around her room as if it was foreign territory, before turning to him with a delighted smile. “Can you teach me to do that?”

Not since his mother had anyone been so pleased with his use of magic. His fingers tangled in the ties of her robe, slowly working out the little knot. “Possibly. If you can conjure objects you should be able to teleport.” The tangle gave way and he released the ties, sliding his hands under the heavy silk and fur and easing it down her arms. The night rail she wore beneath was a rich hunter green with black lace accents at the throat and hem.

Deliberately, he flattened a hand on the soft curve of her stomach and inched it up. “Did you wear this color for me?”

Color rose in her cheeks, but her voice was steady when she responded, “It’s actually the most conservative night gown I have. I thought you might visit and didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.” She finished with a little wink that gave him the push he needed to cup his palm around one breast, massaging it through the thin silk.

Her breath grew shallow and she lifted her hands to tug open the ties at the collar of his shirt. “I find myself immensely glad you aren’t wearing your leathers. I would not have had the patience.”

He stood statue still as she finished unlacing his tunic and tugged it off. When she brought her hands back to explore his chest her touch was gentle, light. He remembered waking up to her touch on Vanaheim. It had been gentle then as well, warm and soothing.

“You’re cool,” she said softly. “Your skin. Is it always this cold?”

“Always,” he murmured. He lifted his hands to pluck pins out of her hair. “Does it bother you?”

“No.” Her voice was still soft as she traced the lines of his chest, over the hard planes of muscle and sinew. Her thumb brushed over his navel, then the arc of his hipbone. He knew this wasn’t the first time she’d seen him this way, but he liked to think he was a bit more appealing now than he had been in his sick bed.

She finished her survey of him, hands cupping his waist lightly, then look up at him, green eyes dark with lust. He had finished with the pins and slid his fingers into the thick fall of her hair, spreading it out around her shoulders. It hung to her waist in loose curls and waves. He sank both hands into the silken strands and tugged so that her head tipped back. For a moment, he just looked at her, held immobile, her throat a delicate, vulnerable arch. Then he bent his head and took her mouth in a rough, devouring kiss.

He swallowed her groan, savored the way she pressed into him. Her arms wrapped around him, fingertips digging into the flesh of his back. Eight little pricks of pain. He untangled one hand and ran it down her back, over the silk covered curve of her ass and down her thigh. With a light tug, he urged her to bend her knee, lift her leg to hook it around his hip. The bed was behind him and it took scarcely a thought to move them from where they were to beside it. Then he lifted her and tossed her onto the mattress, following her down to pin her into the rumpled bedclothes.

It was his turn to explore her, with mouth rather than hands. He tasted her jaw, her throat, running his tongue along the pulse pounding under the skin. Her hands roamed his back, his shoulders, stroked his hair. His lips reached the place where her neck met shoulders and he bit, sucking on the skin hard enough to bruise.

Her hands fisted in his hair and she gasped his name. He gave the wound an apologetic lick before moving lower, nuzzling at the lace of the gown she still wore. He found her nipple, tight and pebbled against the silk, and drew it into his mouth, wetting the gown with his tongue to tease her further. He felt her legs shift restlessly and she arched against him.

Reluctantly, he released her breast and lifted up to look at her. Her hands fell away from his hair and he caught her wrists, pinning them to the bed beside her flushed face.

He watched her hands fist, then the flex of her arm muscles as she tested his grip. When she looked at him he saw no panic, just a hint of amusement and the dark lust he had seen before. “My robe had a perfectly good sash,” she said, voice husky. “If this is your game.”

He squeezed her wrists a little, letting her feel his strength. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he said, despite himself. Her damned, damned truth spell.

To his surprise, she smiled a little. “Why do you want me to be afraid?” He grit his teeth to keep from answering. He didn’t want to know the answer.

“You won’t hurt me tonight,” she said, voice kind. “You might tomorrow. Or next month or next year. A century from now. But not tonight. You need me tonight. You need someone to touch and who will touch you. You need a few hours of trust. And, for tonight, I do trust you. But if you need proof of that-” She gestured with her fingers and a gilt handled dagger appeared in her trapped hand. She twirled it so that she was holding the blade, hilt towards him. “I’ve never liked this gown,” she told him, one brow hiked in a challenge.

For a moment it was as if she had stuck said dagger in his gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form words. There was no reason for her to trust him. None. She knew who he was. What he was. He’d killed a man at her request and she’d called him a wolf and herself a viper. He could just as easily take that dagger and cut her throat.

And still she lay beneath him, calm, almost serene, waiting for him to act. And because she was right, because he needed her in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend, he released her hand and took the knife from her. With his other hand, he tugged the gown away from her chest and used the blade to cut through the lace and the first few inches of silk. Then he tossed the dagger aside, where it clattered on the polished wood floor.

Gripping either side of the tear he yanked the fabric apart, ripping it from neck to hem. Syn slipped her arms out of the straps, letting the ruined fabric puddle on the bed beneath her. Then she reached for him.

She was so warm, warmer than the fire had been. Her lips seared his in a kiss that was also a promise. Need, desire, trust. It all seemed to swirl between them. She trusted him. So, perhaps, for just one night, he could trust her in return.

He kissed down her body again, this time with no barrier between them. Her skin was velvety soft beneath his lips. He drew her nipple between his teeth, teased it with his tongue. She cupped the back of his head tenderly, holding him to her, every line of her body speaking encouragement. He paid her other breast equal attention before moving lower, nuzzling the soft curve of her belly.

The handful of courtesans he’d bedded in his youth had been built differently than her. Willowy Asgardian and Vanir women, all curves and practiced grace. His Truth was graceful and curved in all the expected places. But there was power in her, under the softness. He could feel taut muscle twitch beneath his mouth as he dropped kisses on her abdomen. The thighs he gripped and eased apart were corded with strength. She had been a warrior, a leader in battle. She had wielded the dagger with ease, obviously comfortable with the weapon. It was not something he would have thought to seek out. Now, he couldn’t recall what, exactly, he had found attractive about those other women.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her thigh and heard the hitch of breath that meant she knew what he was about. He hesitated a moment in case she was about to protest. When none came he kissed the inside of her thigh, then brought his mouth to her center.

He tasted and teased her, worshipping her clit with soft licks and sucks. She lifted her hips, pressing herself closer, and he was forced to lay an arm across her stomach to hold her where he wanted her. The other hand slid up to spread her folds and he speared two fingers into her slick heat.

She grew wetter still as he stroked her, flesh hot against his. Her gasps and moans urged him on, until she said his name on a broken cry and began to spasm against his mouth and around his fingers. He lifted his head to watch her come apart, hand still stroking to draw as much pleasure from her as possible. 

When she had stilled, body gone lax against the fine linens, he removed his hand carefully, smiling a little at the way she shifted, as if trying to keep him within. He moved up her, kissing her throat where he had bruised it earlier, before taking her mouth in a rough kiss.

 Her arms twined around his neck and her thighs hugged his hips. His trousers were gone and he didn’t recall removing them, either by magic or mundane means. Perhaps she had done it, or he had, unconsciously. Magic responded to will and want, and there was nothing he wanted so much right now than to be inside her.

With a tilt of her hips she was angled perfectly and with one long, sure thrust he was buried deep in her molten heat.

The sensation was so intense that for a moment he stilled, resting his forehead on hers. She stroked soothing fingers through his hair, apparently content to wait for him. He studied her, memorizing the curl of her mouth and the bright, springtime shade of her eyes. “Syn,” he whispered, voice rough and strained.

She broke into a brilliant smile. “I think that’s the first time you’ve said my name when you weren’t introducing me.” With a ripple of muscle she arched under him, stroking her body along his. “Say it again.”

“Syn,” he repeated, bracing his arms beside her head. “Syn,” he said again as he began to move, hips thrusting into hers. “Syn.”

She moaned, head tipping back in pleasure. Her legs hitched higher around him and he reached down with one hand, palming her thigh to hold it up. He sank deeper then, and they groaned in unison.

“Loki,” she murmured. “Yes, Loki.” Her nails dug into his back again, clutching at him urgently. “More.”

With that word he felt what little restraint he had unwind. He pumped into her roughly, giving her all he had. She met him stroke for stroke, lifting up to take him as deeply as she could. 

He felt her begin to tighten and lowered his mouth to kiss her, catching the low, wild cry she gave as she came. She whispered his name against his lips, over and over, as her body shook and clutched at his, lost in pleasure he had given her.

It took only a few hard thrusts for him to join her. He buried himself as deeply as he could, so he couldn’t tell where she began and he ended, and let his climax pour through him. For a moment or two he wasn’t the mad prince who had betrayed his family and lost everything. For that moment he was simply her lover, sharing intense satisfaction, with no concern for the realms around them.

Syn stroked his sweat damp hair from his face and kissed the corner of his mouth. “My Trickster,” she murmured, the words tender and affectionate. And he had thought both lost to him forever.

He touched her face, stroking the curve of her cheek with his thumb. There were so many things he wanted to say, they seemed to bubble against the seam of his lips, eager to spill out. Her truth curse, it had to be. Reluctantly, he kissed her once more and rolled away, sprawling next to her on the bed. She stretched languidly, arms over her head, then shivered a little. With a gesture, Loki had the covers on top of them rather than beneath. She smiled at the little display.

Loki stared at the canopy over the bed. It was intricately embroidered with a depiction of Yggdrasil in silver and white thread on a rich blue background. He should leave, make it clear this was not the beginning of a love affair. Not that he expected her to be picking out the betrothal cups, but it was better to be clear about it. Women got strange ideas about such things.

He sat up and looked at her to find her watching him, on her side with her head propped on one hand. She gave her wry smile when he turned to her. “Do you always look so serious after you’ve come?”

Oh, he was lying to himself if he thought this would end here. A taste of the forbidden had never been enough for him. He sunk his hands in it, bathed in dangerous waters. He would be back here. Even if he kept himself away for a while his restraint had limits. He would be back. As often as she welcomed him. He knew that. There was only one thing, really, that he didn’t know.

“Why?” he asked her, voice quiet and remarkably calm.

He expected her to ask for clarity, but she just shook her head a little and shifted to sit up beside him. “Because I like you. I find you very attractive. And I thought ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if we just made each other happy for a while?’” She kissed his shoulder. “That was something akin to happiness I saw, was it not?”

“Yes,” he said gruffly.

She watched his face intently. “Do you regret bedding me?”

She wasn’t touching him, he could have lied if he wished. She’d have known, but perhaps the fact he was willing to say the lie would have been insult enough. He could end it all now. Instead, he caught her hand and pressed it to his chest, over the thump of his heart. “No.”

Her fingers stroked his skin lightly and she stretched up to kiss him. “Then lay with me a while and sleep. Tomorrow’s troubles will still be there when you wake.” She lay back on the bed, curled on her side, facing him. 

After a moment’s hesitation, he obeyed, laying beside her. He reached out and dragged her closer, settling her head on his shoulder. She made a quiet noise of content and curled her arm around his chest, pressing against him. Loki took a deep breath of her scent, crisp and fresh as citrus and spring, then closed his eyes.


	11. Martyr's Wounds

_Where to begin? Let’s start with the end_  
 _This black and white photo never captured my skin_  
 _Once it was torn from an enemy thorn_  
 _Straight through the core_  
 _The war was in color_  
\--Carbon Leaf, The War Was in Color (song)

 

Syn woke to Loki playing with her hair.

She didn’t open her eyes immediately, enjoying the foreign sensation. She was laying on her stomach, an old childhood habit she’d never broken, arms buried underneath her pillow. Her face was turned to him, sheets tangled around her ribcage. Her sleep had been dreamless and deep. The sleep of one thoroughly worn out. 

His fingers were cool, like the rest of his skin. The chill, plus the tickle of her hair against her back, raised goosebumps on her flesh. She nuzzled her pillow to hide the little smile that curved her mouth. He gathered her hair up in a fist and wrapped the heavy length around his hand. Cool air hit the skin of her back and she felt him still, holding her hair up.

She knew exactly what he was looking at. Long, dark scars marred the skin, from the ridges of her shoulder blades to the flare of her hips. Some were flat and shiny, others raised, a few shades darker than her skin. When she felt him tug the sheets farther down to see the extent of the damage she opened her eyes.

Grey dawn light filled the room, turning his pale skin silver. His gaze was dark and intense as he studied her back. He let the covers drop and traced the line of the worst scar. When he reached the end of it he met her gaze. She could see the multitude of questions he had, fighting to all come out at once. Finally, he said, “The war?”

“After a fashion,” she replied, because the truth was far more complicated than simple war wounds.

“Those aren’t the scars of a sword fight.” He would know, she imagined. Asgard did love their blades. A good sword wound would leave a scar, depending on the severity and access to a healer. But they were generally thinner, white, and not shiny. With good healing they were hardly noticeable at all.

“No,” she said softly. “These were made by a whip.” The skin around his mouth and eyes tightened and for a moment he looked far older than his age. “Shall I tell you the whole story?” she asked. It was possible he wouldn’t want to know. Though usually what you imagined was worse than the truth.

“If you please.” So polite, the two of them. This was probably a conversation she should have clothed, or at least sitting up, but she was comfortable and she feared moving would break whatever spell was keeping him here. So she hugged her pillow tighter and started to speak.

“We’d been fighting for almost two years. Small skirmishes, attacks on trade caravans, guard battalions. Enough to test the limits of the steward’s defenses but not enough that he would call in Asgardian reinforcements. And if we could interrupt the trade routes a bit, more the better. We wanted to weaken his hold, make him look incompetent. Our forces were good sized and word in the Capital was that the people’s sympathies lay with us. We planned to make a proper attack on the throne in a few months.”

He was still and silent, watching and listening. Syn closed her eyes a moment, trying to remember being that young and confident. “We underestimated him. The next caravan we targeted had double the defenses we’d anticipated. We lost several men, the rest scattered, and I was captured. I expected them to kill me, but I was brought before the steward instead.

“He recognized me. He’d been on my father’s council and had known me as a child. Until he saw me I believe he’d thought the rebellion was a small pack of unhappy peasants. Seeing me, knowing I was alive and being used to rally the people, that frightened him. He decided to use me as an example.”

“He had you flogged.” Loki’s voice was flat and dark. Had the steward still lived she would have actually pitied him a little.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze again, putting effort into keeping her voice level. “Publicly. He wanted to make it clear what happened to those who rose against him. And I believe he hoped to break me. He couldn’t bring himself to execute me outright, but thought he could take the fight out of me.”

Loki gave a little derisive snort. “How poorly did that backfire on him?”

“Oh, tremendously. He wanted an example and he made a martyr. The day after I was whipped my brother had a thousand new recruits join his ranks. A week later they stormed the palace. My brother and I killed the steward and took back the realm. Odin came a few days later and worked out a treaty, much like the one he has with Ullr in Vanaheim. I had thought he would try to fight us, but Boe managed to convince him it wasn’t worth the trouble. He could deal with him as regent or we would fight to the last man and burn Alfheim in the process.”

He stroked one of her scars again. “You skipped this part.”

She grit her teeth and looked away from him. “Did you want a blow by blow retelling? Perhaps a colorful description of what it feels like when your skin splits so deeply your bone is exposed? I’m afraid I’m not much of a poet, Trickster.”

To her utter surprise, he bent and kissed her back, right where two lines intersected over her spine. “I’ve experienced torture of my own, my dear.” His breath was warm against her skin, his voice soft and almost gentle. “I can well imagine your pain. I do find myself interested in the names of those responsible.”

She laughed a little and turned, half lifting off the bed to look at him. “Are you going to puff up and promise to avenge me?” The thinning of his mouth was all the confirmation she needed. 

She smiled warmly and sat up, heedless of her nudity, to cup the back of his head and kiss him. “You’re sweet. But I’ve dealt with them on my own terms, save for one who still eludes me. When I find him he’ll pay as well.” He looked almost surprised and she added, “My hands are far from clean, Loki.”

He caught one and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “Not as stained as mine, I’d wager.”

“Once the mark is there what’s the point in comparing the deepness of the color?” She stroked his cheek, feeling an odd, sharp stab of fondness for him. “I do appreciate the thought.” She supposed offering to slaughter those who had harmed her was the closest he came to comfort. And it did touch her. He was not a man who sought revenge on behalf of others. She could imagine him defending her _now_ , as she was his, in some small way. But to want to protect her retroactively. . . that was damned romantic from a man like Loki.

His finger trailed over her back, tracing the curve of her shoulder blade, the bumps of her spine. “Did my- Did Odin know what was done to you?”

There was no doubt in her mind what he’d been about to say. It wasn’t the time or place to comment, though. “No, I don’t believe so. The steward was a vain, short sighted man. I think if nothing else Odin would have known it would backfire.”

“The old man was a planner, I’ll give him that.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder. “And not unjustly cruel,” he added, sounding reluctant.

She wondered when he had last said something nice about Odin. She had to remind herself sometimes that for all his other faults, the man had raised Loki as a son. A bond like that was a hard thing to sever, even with hatred as strong as Loki’s.

Curling a hand around the back of his neck, she pulled herself up and into his lap. He smiled, eyes darkening, and slid his hands around her waist, snugging her closer against him. She had been very careful, earlier, to hide her back and its scars from him. It was a great relief to no longer have to worry about such things.

“No more talk of war and violence, hmm?” She gave him a slow, drugging kiss and felt his fingers dig into the flesh of her back. “Let’s speak of more pleasant things.”

His hands wandered down to cup her rear. “Did you have anything in mind?” he murmured.

“Perhaps you could tell me how beautiful I am. How lithe and graceful you find me. How irresistible I am.”

“Could I also expound upon your humility?”

Syn smiled, wondering how long it had been since she’d felt this happy. “Wherever your silver tongue leads you, Trickster.” He grinned and pulled her close to kiss her and, quite ironically, neither of them said much of anything for some time.

She half awoke, hours later, when he left her bed. There were no promises to return soon or reassurances of his affection. Just an almost chaste kiss to her brow and a gentle stroke of her hair most would not have believed him capable of. She drifted back to sleep before she could think on it too heavily.

Hilde woke her properly, not thirty minutes later, with her usual blustery cheer. It took all of Syn’s considerable self control not to throw a pillow at the woman. “Do queens ever get the day off?” she muttered, rolling away from Hilde’s humming. “If so, I wish to take one right now.”

“Are you ill?” her friend ask, hurrying to the side of the bed and putting a hand to Syn’s cheek. “You do look a little flushed. Perhaps some rest and a nice-” She broke off abruptly, scowling at her. “Who was here?”

Syn stared at her a moment. To the best of her knowledge, Hilde had no telepathic or prophetic powers. “How in all the realms did you know?”

Hilde tapped a spot on Syn’s shoulder, right where it met the curve of her throat. “I may not be a worldly queen like your ladyship, but I know a lover’s bruise when I see one.”

With a groan, Syn touched the spot, remembering Loki’s enthusiastic foreplay. “Bastard,” she muttered. She sent a little pulse of healing into the spot, enough to make it less noticeable, though she imagined it would still be red or even the sickly yellow-green of a healing bruise. 

“Perhaps next time you could remind him of where your necklines lay and he could nibble accordingly?”

Syn hid her smile in her pillow. She had no idea how innocent or worldly Hilde really was - theirs was not that kind of friendship - but she was fairly certain the other woman would be horrified at all the other places she had bruises. “It would only encourage him,” was all she said.

“Who was it? Some one clever to sneak past the guards in the hallway.”

It was utterly pointless to try to fool Hilde. Even if she could lie, the other woman would probably see right through it. Still, she gave it her best try. “He is clever.”

“Hmph.” Hilde had turned away to go inventory dresses, presumably to find one that might hide the bruise. The distraction was enough that it took her almost a full minute before turning around and looking at her in horror. “Oh no. You don’t mean _Him_.”

“He has a name. Though I’m sure he’d be flattered by your scorn.”

“He’s a liar and a murderer,” Hilde hissed. “Not to mention Jotun.”

“Call him that last one again and I’ll stop defending you to him.” She let enough anger color her tone for Hilde to know she was serious. “As for the others, that list of sins is hardly unique.”

“You killed in war.”

“Not every time,” Syn pointed out gently. “And not always with a soldier’s detachment.” She found the energy to sit up and stretch. “We both needed someone last night. It was pleasant for us both. Please don’t ruin it with your tutting.”

Hilde looked slightly mollified, if still disapproving. “Did he see your back?”

She stilled, then looked away, fingers going to her hair to pick out tangles. “Yes.”

When she didn’t continue Hilde prompted, “Aaand?”

“The second time was almost better than the first,” she retorted with as much dignity as a naked woman with a hickey could muster.

The older woman laughed brightly and held up two gowns. “Pick.”

Syn sighed. She really did want to stay in bed, but there was work to do. Making excuses would be more effort than getting on with it. “The purple. I should stick to somber colors for a while, in deference to Eoin’s death.” Hilde nodded and put the other dress back. “Though I may come down with a dreadful headache once my more urgent work is done.”

“That good was it?”

She slid out of bed and stretched, feeling faint twinges of long denied muscles. “It was a long night,” she said, feeling oddly shy suddenly. “But very fulfilling.” She reached for the gown. “I’ll try to keep the school girl grin of my face when in front of nobles.”

“It’s good to see you happy,” Hilde said. When it was not followed by a snide comment about Loki, Syn glanced at her friend’s face to see she was sincere. “You’ve been so melancholy since your brother died.”

Just the mention of Boe still sent a bit of pain through her chest. She mustered a weak smile. “A queen’s life is busy.”

“And lonely,” Hilde responded pointedly. “You throw yourself into everything whole heartedly. Boe used to drag you out, make sure you still lived your life. I try to do the same, but-” She shrugged and gave Syn’s cheek a little pat. “If Himself can make you want to take a day off of your duties I’ll forgive him just about any sin.”

Boe would likely have appreciated the sentiment, if not being lumped in the same group with Loki. He’d have tried to run him off the instant he made eyes as his poor baby sister. That thought brought a new smile to her face and she indulged in a hug with Hilde. “Thank you. For right now I think my duties can wait until I’ve had an excruciatingly hot bath.”

Hilde pecked her cheek. “I’ll see to it. And find you some balm for your muscles, yes?” she added, trotting off to the washroom.

“You’re an angel!” Syn called after her, grinning again. Yes, that was going to be hard to fight today.


	12. Fire and Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I direct you all to the first page of the fic and my new banner courtesy of OlivesAwl who is awesome and multi talented. Praise her and her graphic artist skillz.

_Some say the world will end in fire,_  
 _Some say in ice._  
 _From what I've tasted of desire_  
 _I hold with those who favor fire._  
\--Robert Frost, Fire and Ice

Loki avoided Syn, and Alfheim, for a fortnight. It was stupid and cowardly, but he did it. He couldn’t even say why, not really. Maybe because he missed her and he didn’t want to. Because he wanted to prove to himself that he could. That she had no power over him. Any reason he could think of came out childish and petty.

Eventually, he stayed away because he feared he’d been absent too long. If he went now she’s ask why he hadn’t come sooner and he’d have to lie and she’d see it. And so he went around and around with himself. Until two weeks had passed and his desire to see her outweighed his embarrassment at having no reason not to.

He timed his arrival late at night, half hoping she’d be abed and he could look his fill of her without having to explain himself. As if looking would be enough. Instead, he found her wide awake, dressed in dark breeches and matching tunic, hair fiercely braided. She was bent over a table in her private study, frowning over what looked like a map.

 She lifted her head, brow furrowed, then glanced about the room until she saw him. Few people noticed his arrival the way she did.

Smiling, she straightened. “You have the most convenient timing, sometimes. Tell me, can you transport us both somewhere if you’ve only seen it on a map?”

“I- Yes.” This is not the greeting he had expected. “Are we going somewhere?”

“We are, if you’ve the time.” She tilted her head. “Or was this not a social visit?”

He shook his head sharply, as if it would bring his particular concerns back into focus. “You aren’t going to ask where I’ve been the last two weeks? Lecture me on abandoning you immediately after bedding you?”

Her wry smile curled her mouth. “Trickster, have I given you the impression that I’m a needy woman? Or clingy?”

He shook his head again, slowly this time.

“And were you under the impression that, having slept with you, my world would suddenly and completely revolve around you to the point your absence caused me great distress?”

“No,” he said carefully.

“And were you, in your two week’s gone, flitting about the other realms seducing maids and queens alike, spreading your seed hither and yon?”

Fighting his own smile, he repeated, “No.”

“Good. Then I think we can dispense with the excuses and recriminations and move on to more pleasant topics, don’t you?”

“As you say, my dear.”

She stepped closer and popped up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “That said, next time a word to let me know you hadn’t been discovered and your head mounted on the wall of Asgard wouldn’t go amiss.”

He slid an arm around her, holding her to him, warm and soft. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. And just like that, he knew the conversation was over. That she understood, at least as well as he did, why he’d stayed away. Perhaps she’d needed the time as well. Neither one of them was the type to make connections, to allow another to become a weakness. He imagined he’d blindsided her at least as much as she had him.

He enjoyed holding her a moment, resting his chin on her head. She smelled sweet and fresh and he found the scent instinctively soothing. He pressed a kiss to her brow and asked, “Where are we going?”

She leaned back to look at him and smiled. “I’ve been quite busy these two weeks. With Eoin gone there’s no one spreading dissent about my rule. No one loud, anyway. I suppose no ruler has a one hundred percent approval rating.” She slipped out of his grasp, reluctantly, he thought, and walked to her maps. “So I’ve been able to send spies out, to find out the general tone of political discourse in the land.”

“To what end?” he asked, interested almost despite himself. Her political machinations were what had first brought them together. He felt it in his best interest to keep abreast of them.

Stopping beside the table, she looked up and him and grinned. “I did promise you an army, did I not?”

And now she truly had his attention. “What have you found?”

She tapped a spot on the map. “There’s a small group finding footing here, in a fishing town a few clicks south of here. Very anti-Asgard, though their thoughts on me are so far unclear. The leader is having a meeting tonight to go over their manifesto. I was planning on attending, hooded, of course. Perhaps you’d care to join me?”

It had been a very long time since Loki had given any thought to courting. He was still fairly certain that attending a political rally was not a typical activity for a couple in the early throes of a relationship. But, then, they were hardly the typical couple, were they?

He stepped forward and peered at the map, orienting himself with the village she’d tapped in relation to their current location. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her to him. With a flick of his fingers he had her cloak in his hand. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”

Less than an hour later they were seated in the back of a small, low class tavern in said fishing town. The room smelt of old ale, brine and salt. Loki had procured them drinks when they’d arrived and was now entertaining himself with the expressions Syn made every time she mustered up the nerve to sip from her stein. In between, she scanned the crowd or glowered at him.

“Why the sour face?” he finally asked. “I thought I was in your good graces.”

“To be honest, I’m a bit put off by your disguise.”

Having not had time to find a cloak or appropriate clothes, he’d settled for a complete illusion. It meant he would be unable to touch her until they had privacy again. But it meant no one would stir up a fuss as the presumed dead prince of Asgard at their meeting.

He glanced down at himself. “What’s wrong with it?” He offered her a wide grin. “Are you vexed I made myself a woman? That’s very closed minded of you, my dear.”

Somehow, her glare turned even blacker. “I’m vexed you made yourself prettier than me.” Loki tipped his head back and laughed, the noise causing a few heads to turn and look at them. Syn swatted at him, carefully not making contact, and sipped her awful beer again. “We’re supposed to be blending in,” she hissed at him.

“I thought two female friends attending the meeting was less of note than a couple on a date.” He shook his head. “Jealousy doesn’t become you.”

“I will find a way to make it up to you later,” she said sweetly and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a promise or a threat.

Before he could form a proper response, a man rose from a table near the front and cleared his throat sharply. Loki and Syn both turned to study him. He was young, of age, but barely, at least a few centuries younger than he and Syn. His hair was dark and poorly cut, brushing the collar of his homespun tunic. He didn’t look a warrior, more like a poet or scholar.

Then he spoke. There was no nervous tremble to his voice, no uncertainty in his words. He spoke of oppression, of the rights of the people. Of the revolution that Syn and her brother had waged and the one he felt still needed to be held.

Loki glanced around the room a few times to find the audience seemingly mesmerized by the boy. He was charismatic, forceful, passionate. And his passion for his topic shone through strongly. It all lead Loki to one inevitable conclusion.

“He’s going to get himself and all of his supporters killed.”

Syn laughed quietly, watching him as he paced the length of her bed chamber. It was late, they’d been back from the tavern only a few minutes. Yet she’d managed to strip out of her boots, cloak and vest, and loosen the ties at the throat of her tunic so that the top curve of her breasts showed. She’d conjured them wine and goblets as well as a small fire in the fireplace. She had promptly dropped into the chair closest to said fire and poured herself some wine.

“I think you may be selling him a little short,” she offered, sipping the wine. “He has some salient points.”

“He’s an idealist,” Loki spat, pacing again. “An idealist with no military experience and no strategy. That’s a recipe for mass slaughter if ever I heard one.”

She swirled the wine in her glass. “So judgmental, Trickster. He’s young and he’s enthusiastic. I don’t think he’s planning to storm Asgard’s gates anytime soon. He may never do so. It’s just as likely some girl or boy will catch his eye and he’ll forget all about his revolution.”

“No,” he said with utter certainty. “He’s a true believer. No lover’s arms will match the warmth of his beliefs.”

That silenced her for a moment and she seemed to contemplate his words. “Can you use him?” she asked finally.

He dropped into the chair across from her and reached for his own wine glass, scowling. “Maybe. It will have to be done very carefully.”

“You will have to convince him you’re not a villain.”

Loki laughed. “Well, then. Perhaps I’d best forget the whole thing.”

She dismissed the protest with a flick of her fingers. “Don’t be silly. It’s all in how you tell the tale. He hates Odin, so you’ve already got that in common. You simply build on that until all he can see are your commonalities. You’ll be a misunderstood rebel, just like him. Aligning with you will only make sense.”

He studied her. She was beautiful in firelight, with shadows drawn dark and deep under her cheek bones. She was the kind of beauty other men might write poems about, comparing her to spring or roses or the eternity of the sea. He was no poet, but he thought fire was her element. Beautiful, warming and deadly. Necessary for life yet capable of ending it in a flash. Such an odd companion for a man born in ice.

“For a woman who can’t lie, you paint a pretty picture of me,” was all he said.

Her smile was as warm as the fire. “We are all the hero of our own story, Loki. The trick is in the telling of the tale.”

They used each other’s proper names so rarely that the sound of it in her clipped Alfan accent shot awareness through him. He’d tried so hard not to let her in, to hold her at arm’s length or farther. But now, right now, basking in the heat of the fire and the glow of a plot taking shape, he could admit that he was hopelessly entangled with her. The only thing that made it bearable was that he sensed she was equally entangled, equally against her will.

“Will you help me convince the poor sot?” he asked her, in the same tone he might have used to ask her to strip naked for him.

She frowned slightly, contemplating her wine. “I worry my direct involvement will complicate things. And I’m still not entirely clear on whether or not he likes me very much.”

“He seemed positive about your revolution.”

“But he thinks I didn’t go far enough. Nothing an idealist hates more than a layabout.” She drank her wine deep enough there were only dregs left and sent the goblet to the table with a shimmer of magic. “Approach him alone, first. Make your case. If he resists and you’re forced to kill him I’d rather not be involved. Can’t have people thinking I’m trying to crush free speech.”

“No, of course not. Just gently guide it to its best use.”

She shrugged, smiling her pretty, twisted smile. “I’m a kind and benevolent queen.”

He laughed and finished his own wine. He stood and took it over to the table before turning back to her. “It seems we have a plan.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he took the long route to her chair. “Now, I suppose you’ll send me along my way.”

Her brows arched as she watched him walk. He was sure she knew exactly what he was about, but always seemed willing to play along. “Am I keeping you from pressing business, my dear Trickster?”

“The needs of a kingdom are vast and never ending. As well you know.”

She tilted her head, propping her chin on her fist. “That is true. And they say a good night’s sleep is imperative for one’s higher functioning.”

Reaching her chair, he loomed over her and she obligingly tipped her chin up to look at him. Her tunic was half unlaced and he could see just the faintest, tantalizing curve of her breasts. “As it happens, I do not require a great deal of sleep.”

“That’s very convenient for you, Trickster. Regrettably, I do require the normal amount.”

He went very still. “So you will be sending me off on my own?”

A teasing smile curved her mouth. “Well, as it happens, since I had planned to go to the meeting tonight I arranged my schedule for tomorrow so that my morning would be leisurely. So perhaps my bedtime could be a bit negotiable.”

Taking that as an invitation, he dropped to his knees beside her. He hooked a finger into the tie of her shirt and with a little tug and not a small amount of magic, unlaced it completely. The scrap of black ribbon was tucked into one of the pockets in his armor and he slid his hand under the soft fabric of her tunic and cupped her bare breast. “Might I offer my services to entertain you in the meantime?”

Her green eyes seemed to glow in the dim light and she lifted and hand to sink her fingers into his hair. “Why, Loki, I thought you’d never ask.”

He leaned up to kiss her throat. “Say it again.” She made a quiet, questioning noise and he clarified, “My name. Say it again.”

There was a smile in her voice when she repeated, “Loki.” She tipped her head back, giving him better access to kiss her skin. “Loki,” she said again. Her hand tugged on his hair, pulling him higher so she could see his face. “Loki,” she murmured one last time before kissing him.

He sank into the kiss, stroking and shaping her breast as he tasted her mouth. Her other arm came up and twined around his body, stroking his back. He decided then that he would play with fire a bit longer. The warmth was well worth the risk of burning.


	13. Dig Two Graves

_But if it had to perish twice,_    
 _I think I know enough of hate_  
  _To say that for destruction ice_    
 _Is also great_  
  _And would suffice._  

\--Robert Frost Fire and Ice

Syn had never been in love. Had never really been infatuated or had a crush. At the time when most women were navigating their hormones and budding relationships she had been leading men into skirmishes and having her back torn with whips. She’d had lovers, but had carefully kept emotion out of the equations. Sex was a physical need, like eating or sleeping. Most of the time she handled her pleasure on her own, but if the opportunity presented itself and the man was agreeable she indulged herself. Such opportunities came less frequently now. Men rarely wanted to bed a queen without any ulterior motives. So she had done without.

She could probably blame the long dry spell for her immediate and rather intense connection with Loki. But it was impossible for her to lie, even to herself. And she knew it was far more than that. She saw no benefit in exploring what it was, exactly. Most likely one of them would pull away soon, overwhelmed by the enormity of what was growing between them. She strongly suspected that when that happened she would grieve, much as she had when her brother had died. Until that day, she would enjoy him and her time with him. And indulge in the occasion day dream.

A sharp rap on her office door shook her out of one such girlish interlude. She sighed and called, “Enter,” trying to focus on the papers in front of her.

One of her guardsmen, a man named Colm, entered. Colm had been in the revolution with her and Boe. Boe had offered several of their officers places in the palace, as unofficial advisors or members of the guard. Most had graciously declined, wanting to go back to their families and farms. But a few had stayed on. Colm had been one of them and he was currently her best man for clandestine work.

He hovered at the door until she waved at him to come farther into the room. “I haven’t seen you in some time,” she offered. “You look like you have news.”

Colm stopped at the other side of her desk and said, with no preamble or attempt at small talk, “I’ve found him, your majesty.”

A calm stillness settled over her, chilling her blood. She met Colm’s eyes. “Where?”

“He was on Vanaheim.”

The coward had gone so far as to leave the realm. Well, he had to have known she would hunt him. “And where is he now?”

“He will be in your dungeon by night fall, your majesty.”

It was hard to breathe around the hunk of ice that now seemed to be forming in her chest. She must have hidden it well, because Colm didn’t show any concern. With a sharp nod, she even managed to smile. “Well done. Feel free to take a few days. And I’ll ensure you receive a healthy bonus.”

The older man offered his own hard smile. “I’m just happy it’s over,” he told her. He bowed slightly. “My lady.”

She dismissed him with a nod and returned to staring blankly at her paper covered desk as he took his leave.

It had taken several years for her and Boe to solidify and stabilize their rule. Revolutions were messy and Asgard had been in power a long time. Once they were more sure in their place, she had set up her network of spies and informants and begun the arduous task of tracking down the men that had been responsible for her flogging.

The steward, who had ordered it, had died when the revolt had taken over the palace. Her jailer had been next, found working in the shipyards right here in the capital. The three men who had wielded the whip had been harder. The first had been found almost a century into Boe’s rule. She’d had him brought to her and played with him until he’d told her the identities of the other two. The next had been found quickly but had killed himself before her people could get him back to her.

And now, finally, the last man was within her grasp. She would do what she wished with him, see him tossed in a nameless grave, and then it would be done. Over, as Colm had said. Her vengeance had been a long, drawn out process, but now the end was in sight. She should be thrilled, satisfied. And yet all she felt was that chill, now seeping into her bones.

After supper, she made her way down the long, narrow staircase that lead to the palace dungeons. There was a proper jail for long term prisoners of the realm and most major cities had holding cells for petty crimes. The dungeons were a relic of a bygone era. An age of rough men and dark times. She imagined the ancestor that had earned her family its truth curse had used them extensively. She was fairly confident her brother had never been down here.

But she was not her brother. He had had a rock solid belief in justice. Fairness. His moral code had been painted in black and white, with no use for those grey shades in between. He had known of her hunt for those who had hurt her. Had disapproved of it, but hadn’t the heart to stop her. Perhaps he’d told himself she was simply dealing out justice. Perhaps he couldn’t believe his baby sister was capable of the things she was capable of.

She was capable of so many things.

Her tormentor was bound hand and foot, kneeling in the center of a small cell. There was a guard at the door, another of her loyal revolution soldiers. She paused with her hand on the door lock and glanced up at him. He gave her the slightest of nods and stepped away, walking towards the stairs, giving her privacy.

She entered the cell, closing the door behind her. The man on the floor looked up and she saw his eyes widen at the sight of her. She felt a hard, cold smile curve her mouth. “Oh, good. You remember me.”

His face closed off and he looked down again. She walked deeper into the room, slowly circling him. Colm had been kind enough to strip the man to the waist for her. His back was smooth and unmarred and the ice inside her cracked as it froze solid.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” she asked the kneeling man when she had finished her tour around the room. He didn’t respond and she moved closer, crouching down so she could speak softly. “I remember. You told me to go ahead and scream as loud as I liked. Because it would make a better show.” On very bad nights she heard those words in her dreams.

As she hunkered there, she felt a sudden, familiar prickle of awareness on her skin and the taste of winter in her mouth. She glanced around quickly but saw nothing and no one in the cell with them. Perhaps it had been her imagination. Perhaps the ice in her veins wasn’t as metaphorical as she’d thought.

Or perhaps Loki was here and had decided to give her space to do as she wished.

She turned her attention back to her captive. “Did I scream?” she asked him, voice deceptively bright.

His jaw tightened, muscles flexing under his stubble flecked skin. When it was clear he didn’t intend to answer she lifted her hand to touch him and he flinched away. “Did I scream?” she repeated, still calm and reasonable.

“No.” He spat the word at her as if it would harm her.

The expression twisting her face couldn’t really be called a smile. There was no humor or joy in it. “No,” she agreed. “I didn’t.” She had all but bitten through her lip, but she hadn’t made a sound. “Do you think you’ll scream?” she asked him.

He didn’t answer and she hadn’t expected him to. She lifted her hand and called up her magic, watching at the gold glow filled her palm. Her thoughts turned to darkness and pain and the light took on a tint of red, turning the gold a sickly orange. 

She touched his back, drawing a line from his shoulder blade down to his waistband. Orange light trailed behind her finger and his skin bruised and split before her eyes. He flinched, bucking against the pain. Blood oozed from the wound.

“That’s what it feels like to have your skin split open by a whip strike,” she informed him. “I avoided your spine that time. I assure you it hurts far more over the bone.”

“It was my job,” he whispered. “My duty to my steward. What would you have done?”

She hadn’t expected him to speak, to try to defend himself to her. Certainly not after only one blow. “What would _I_ have done? I lead a revolution against that bastard. I fought to overthrow his rule. What do you _think_ I would have done? Do you really think I would have mindlessly obeyed orders and whipped the skin off the back of a girl?”

“You were an enemy of the crown,” he snapped.

“And now I am the crown,” she said, and she barely recognized her voice. It wasn’t her voice. It was the voice of the girl she’d been when she’d been in this dungeon. It was the voice of pain and fear and hopelessness. “I myself am often surprised at life’s little ironies.” She lifted her hand and slapped his back, the sound of skin striking skin cracking through the air, sending another line of hurt across the skin. “Go ahead and scream,” she told him. “I won’t mind a bit.”

He didn’t scream, though she hadn’t really expected him to. He did cry by the end. She left him curled on his side, weak and shattered. She had stopped his bleeding and closed the worst of the wounds in an effort to keep him from getting infected. “I was in here four days before my brother came to get me,” she told him before she left. “Let’s see how long you last.”

She left him unguarded, confident he was in no shape to try escaping tonight. She took the long way up to her chambers, taking hidden stairs and secret passages. The palace was full of such things, the left overs of some paranoid ancestor or another. It meant she could reach privacy without seeing anyone else. And, more importantly, no one saw her with her hands stained red and her hem dark with the dirt of the dungeon and the blood of her captive.

There was nothing in her but the ice now. No satisfaction. No triumph. No relief. None of the things she’d thought she’d feel once she had him in her grasp. She had thought to spend days with him, visiting upon him every ounce of pain she had felt. Now she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go back down there to kill him. Perhaps she’d have Colm do it, or one of her other guards. Maybe he didn’t deserve her hand.

Once in her chambers, she went to her wash room and scrubbed the blood from her hands. She stripped her dress off and tossed it in the corner. She could argue with Hilde later about cleaning versus burning it. Eyeing the tub, she contemplated a painfully hot bath but decided it wasn’t worth it. What remained of her evening could be spent with wine and a book before the fire until she could no longer put off what was sure to be a troubled sleep.  She tugged her dressing gown on over her underclothes and stepped out into her bedroom. Loki sat in her chair by the fire, a slim book of Alfan poetry in his hand, propped on his knee. She felt a faint flicker of surprise, wondering if he had been there when she’d come in and she hadn’t noticed. Usually she was painfully aware of his presence, including the flicker of awareness she’d had down in the dungeon hours ago.

For a few heartbeats she just looked at him, surprised at how very happy she was to see him. It was a purely instinctive feeling, wanting to walk over and wrap her arms around him, find comfort in him. But that was not what they were for each other, was it? And she couldn’t be certain she’d be welcome.

 She cinched down the knot in her robe’s sash. “I’m afraid I’ll be poor company tonight, Trickster.”

“Your poets enjoy nature allusions far too much,” he said, still peering at the book. “It becomes a little redundant.”

“I suppose Asgardian poems are all great epics about the glory of war.” She could do this, could play their game of words. It was reassuring in its familiarity, like regaining solid rock under your feet after a landslide.

“Mostly,” he conceded, watching her cross the room to sit in the chair across from him. “Busy evening?” The question was achingly polite.

She folded her hands together, elbows propped on the chair arms. “I thought I felt your presence in the dungeon. What did you think of my work?”

He smiled, showing teeth. “You can torture my prisoners any day.” Sobering, he put the book down and leaned forward to study her face closely. “He wielded the whip, I take it?”

“One of them.” She glanced at the fire, wondering why it did nothing to soften the chill in her bones. “The last of them. When he is dead then my vengeance will be done.”

She could feel his intense gaze on her but couldn’t bring herself to return it. “And does satisfaction taste as sweet as you’d hoped?” he asked, an undercurrent of. . . something in his tone.

Oh, how she longed for the ability to lie. “There is a faint bite of bitterness to it,” she admitted.

When he was silent she risked a look at him and was surprised to find something like sympathy in his eyes. “I told my brother once that satisfaction was not in my nature. Perhaps it eludes all creatures like us.”

Creatures like them. Those red in tooth and claw. The wolves and vipers among the rabbits and deer. She supposed they were never satisfied. There was always another meal to catch, another den to build. “I recall feeling triumph when the steward was dead. My brother was with me then and we celebrated.” Even weak, with her back still healing, she had mustered something like joy for their win. There had been no ice in her heart then, less stain on her soul.

Loki leaned forward, reached out and took her hands. She flinched a little at the touch but didn’t draw away. Cold as she felt, it was a wonder she didn’t turn him blue. “Do you trust me?” he asked softly.

She smiled a little, looking at their hands, his pale fingers wrapped around hers. “Today is not a good day to ask me that,” she told him, voice hoarse.

“And yet, I must insist on an answer.”

For a moment she had the horrible, utter certainty that if she tried to speak again her voice would break and that would be the end of her composure. So she just nodded in reply.

 His fingers tightened on her hands, thumbs tracking patterns on her wrist. Then he stood and pulled her to her feet as well. “Then close your eyes. And hold tight.”

Because she was tired. Because she felt lost and uncertain. And because, despite logic and sense, she did trust him. She closed her eyes and held his hands tightly.

There was a pause, then the world seemed to tilt on its axis. As if some sort of creature had tipped the room and tried to shake her out of it. She sucked in her breath and dug her fingers into Loki’s hands. Then the world straightened itself out again and there was cool, damp sand under her feet instead of plush carpet.

She opened her eyes and looked around, finding herself on an unfamiliar beach. The dark sea stretched out before her, spilling out into a star dotted void. When she turned she could see the gold sheen of the Asgardian palace in the distance.

“I came here often as a boy,” Loki said quietly. “To escape the noise of the palace. To think.”

Syn looked up at him. She knew, without asking, that this was not a place he shared with others. Her throat worked as she swallowed down the sudden lump lodged there. “It’s very peaceful,” she said finally.

He smiled faintly, looking out at the water. She turned to do the same. With a couple of shuffling steps forward she could feel the waves licking at her toes. There was a cool breeze coming off the sea, reminding her she was wearing very little under her robe, and she hugged herself to conserve warmth.

There was a shimmer of green out the corner of her eye and then something warm and heavy settled around her shoulders. She glanced down to find Loki draping his green cape around her. It kept out the wind nicely and she gathered up handfuls of it to hold it closer. It carried the sharp, winter scent of his skin, which somewhere along the way had become comforting to her.

“He stole a part of you,” he said, holding her gaze so intensely she couldn’t find it in her to look away. “Because he was the first to hurt you, or the worst, or enjoyed it the most. And he carried the piece of you with him while you hunted him. You filled the empty place with rage and thoughts of vengeance and told yourself revenge would give you the missing piece back, but that isn’t how it works. It’s gone.” He touched her cheek, stroking her hair back and tucking it behind her ear. “You are giving him too much of yourself. Kill him and be done with it. Fill the missing pieces with something new.”

She had always thought of herself as alone. Even when Boe was alive he didn’t really understand her. His memories of the war had been of battles won and cheering crowds. He’d received a manly scar, just above his eye brow, and had worn it proudly. He hadn’t understood the fear, the humiliation of her capture, of the flogging. He hadn’t understood the paths she’d had to walk, the shadows she had lurked in during his reign. Hilde knew what she did and understood why it was necessary, but she disapproved. With time Syn had grown tired of the sighs and frowns and had begun to hide as much as she could from her friend.

She had come to accept that there were no creatures like her. No one that she could confide in. No one who would understand the path she walked.

And then she had met Loki.

Without a word, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. His came up without hesitation, holding her to his chest. She settled her head on his chest over his heartbeat. He stroked her hair and didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more advice or comfort. He’d said what he had to say and it was up to her now to use it.

She fought the tears that threatened. Queens didn’t cry and she was fairly sure it would be a bit too much for Loki. Instead she tried to picture the ice in her heart and bones melting, washing away the anger and vengeance inside her. She imagined it washing it out into the sea, falling off into the void beyond.

On the other side of it, she felt lighter, at ease. The way she had hoped to feel after tormenting her torturer. It was a place to start. To find what she could fill herself back up with now that her revenge was gone.

It occurred to her there, standing on the shore of an endless sea that she was well on her way to falling in love with the man who held her in his arms. And that losing him, as she almost certainly would in one way or another, would tear out a piece of her that would be far too big to fill in again.

* * *

**End Part Two**


	14. Winter is Coming

_They turn to stars or shadows,_  
 _They go like snow or dew—_  
 _Leaving behind no sorrow—_  
 _Only the arching blue._  
\-- Vachel Lindsay, The Strength of the Lonely

 

_Six Months Later, The Queen’s Garden, Asgard_

“Soon, it will be too cold for me to sit out here with you.”

Loki chuckled a little, shifting so his head lay more firmly in Syn’s lap. The movement was apparently deliberate enough to get his point across, because she laughed and stroked her fingers through his hair, petting him. “We aren’t all immune to the cold,” she reminded him, hand moving rhythmically. She was the only creature in the realms who could have gotten away with even a vague reference to his heritage.

In her defense, winter was starting to make itself known in the realms. Alfheim had already had its first snow. He had talked her into visiting him in Asgard soon after, as early winter was a peaceful time in her realm. They had enjoyed several blissful, almost carefree days alone together before Thor had arrived for a surprise visit. Loki had to all but swear to the Tree that he’d had no idea his brother was coming, and even then Syn only believed him because of her unerring truth sense. She had begrudgingly agreed to stay and play her part in chasing his brother off, though they managed to steal moments together.

Like this peaceful evening in his mother’s garden, where he lay under the shade of a chestnut tree with his head in a beautiful woman’s lap. It was like something out of a painting, or an old ballad.

“I suppose this is where I should offer to keep you warm?”

She laughed and gave him a very indulgent smile. “I don’t know if you’d be very successful. But I suppose the thought counts.”

He reached up and cupped the back of her head, drawing her down for a kiss. For half a year he had dallied with her. Learned every inch of her, her likes, her wants, her needs. Had given her far more of himself than he had ever thought to give anyone. He spent his days ruling Asgard as Odin and his evenings quietly guiding an underground revolution against it. Then, most nights, he joined her in her chambers to discuss his progress and the struggles of the day, before retiring to bed. There was a level of peace and. . . contentment to the routine he had never thought to have.

It wouldn’t last. Couldn’t. Nothing good in his life had ever lasted. But, for once, he was taking a page from his brother’s book and enjoying it. Every moment, every touch. So that when it was taken from him he would have no regrets.

Lost as he was in his thoughts, he was unaware they’d been found until a voice called out. “Intruder! Guards, to me!”

Syn jerked back, allowing Loki to sit up swiftly. A palace guard stood a few yards away, at the entrance of the courtyard they sat in. The man’s eyes widened, obviously recognizing him and he shouted again. “It’s Loki! The mad prince. Guards!”

Loki grit his teeth, fury choking him. This is what came of being happy, he supposed.

A dagger materialized in his hand with a thought and he flung it at the guard. It landed directly in his throat, cutting off his cries in mid word. Another dagger flew, taking him in the eye and he dropped.

Loki stood, hauling Syn up with one arm. In the distance of the gardens he could hear running footsteps. “They’ll be here in a moment. Stay behind me and try to run if you have the chance.” He brought another knife to his hand, stepping in front of her.

Only to have her push past him with an irritated sigh. “Honestly, all the realms must look like one big battlefield to you.” She reached the fallen guard and pulled the daggers out of him, tossing them in Loki’s general direction. Blood poured freely from the wounds and she moved deliberately to get some on her skirts. With another irritated noise, she lifted a hand to cover one of her eyes and with a glow of red-gold magic he watched a bruise and cut form on her cheek and her eye go blood shot.

“What in the realms-” he started, but cut off when the shouts and footsteps grew louder.

“Go,” Syn hissed at him, kneeling next to the guard. “They’ll be looking for Odin to tell him of this. _Go_.”

Every instinct in him told him to stay and fight. But she seemed to have a plan and he had come far enough to trust her, at least for a moment. So, after scooping up the bloody knives he left in a shimmer of green.

He arrived in his private study and managed to don his Odin glamour mere moments before guards burst in. He stood, channeling his fury into irritation at their interruption. “What is the meaning-”

“Apologies, sire. But there was an intruder in the gardens. They’re saying it was your - it was the traitor Loki.”

Fortunately, the glamour hid his true reaction to the words. Without saying a word - he didn’t entirely trust himself to speak - he nodded and strode out the door, the guards close at his heels.

In the garden he found a ridiculous number of guards clustered around the dead one, standing around uselessly. He ignored them, focusing on Syn. She was seated on a garden bench, a cloth held to her wounded cheek. Thor hovered over her, arms crossed. Loki couldn’t tell if he was being protective or suspicious of her.

He felt raw and frustrated, with no one to turn it on. He wasn’t entirely sure he was prepared to speak with his brother, but it was what Odin would have done, so he went to them. “Report.”

Thor looked from Syn to him. “Her majesty was resting in the garden when she saw someone dressed in black. Before she could call for help the guard on duty came upon them.” Thor gestured at the fallen guard. “The stranger in black shoved her and killed the guard, then escaped. The other guards say the fallen one called out it was Loki, but the Queen cannot confirm.”

Loki looked down at Syn, doing an admirable job of looking shaken and scared. The wound on her face and the blood on her dress told most of the story for her. He felt a flash of admiration for her quick thinking. Once again, she had saved him from being found out. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, Odin’s voice rumbling out of his mouth.

She nodded, then winced as it if had hurt. “Shaken, your majesty. And sorry I could not be of more help.”

He fought the instinct to touch her head and nodded, turning to Thor. “Could you escort the queen to her chambers? I will speak to the guards and meet you in my study later.” There was nothing he wanted to do less than sit and chat with Thor about this, but with his true name being thrown about it was more important than ever to act as Odin would.

With a nod, Thor held a hand out to help Syn up. She stood without his aid, though and nodded to Loki before heading for the garden path. Thor trailed after her, walking between her and the body when she gave it wide berth.

Trying to put her out of his mind, Loki went to the still-living guards and began to ask pointless questions.

*

By the Tree, her head hurt. 

“How can you be so clever and so stupid all at once?”

Hilde was, as always, the epitome of warmth and sympathy. She was also tending to the cut under Syn’s eye and keeping her head wrapping in cool, herbed cloths, so Syn didn’t begrudge her a little lecturing.

It _had_ been a stupid thing to do. First hurting her eye, then the long line of half truths she’d had to spin when speaking to Thor and the guards. Her head throbbed and her eye had swollen partially shut. Hilde had dimmed all the lights and gotten her into bed once Thor escorted her to her room, but it had been a near thing. She had passed out for a short time, waking when Hilde tried to swab away some of the blood by her eye.

She’d been having such a pleasant evening, too. Loki had been in an unusually playful mood. Laying in her lap, teasing her about the cold. She’d found herself wishing all their time together could feel that easy and hopeful.

_Speak of the devil,_ she thought as the taste of winter stung her tongue. Hilde whirled to face the shimmer of green that coalesced into Loki. “And what do you think you’re doing here? The last thing she needs is more of your meddling.”

“Stand aside woman.” At least he sounded more exasperated than angry with her.

“Her majesty is not accepting visitors at this time.” Syn didn’t have to look to know that Hilde had her arms crossed over her breast and was staring him down. “She’s ill.”

There was a pause, then Loki asked in a dangerously calm tone, “What’s wrong with her?”

“She had to bend the truth to hide what really happened in the gardens. Not to mention what she did to her damned eye. She knows better than to use her magic on herself but, oh no, nothing can hurt her royal -”

“Hilde,” Syn said, quiet but firm. “Let him in.”

Her friend made a disgruntled noise and Syn heard the sound of the door opening and closing. Then cool fingers touched the bandage on her cheek. “Syn,” he said, voice hoarse.

“I may have gone a bit overboard in my playacting.” Her own voice seemed to echo in her head painfully.

There was a creak of leather as he kneeled beside her bed. “My gift for healing is meager as best, but. . .” His fingers stroked her cheek and she felt the sharp chill of his magic sink into her skin. This was joined by the press of his lips on her forehead.

Her pain eased slowly, the swelling in her eye going down. When he lifted his head she was able to open both without pain and her headache had settled into a dull throb at the back. She opened her eyes to find him looming over her, concern etched into the lines of his face.

She gave him a wide, hopefully reassuring, smile. “Much better. Thank you.”

He let out a breath and stroked her hair gently. “It would have been much simpler to let me stab them all.”

Laughing caused pangs to shoot through her skull but she couldn’t help it. “But now you’ve lived to play Odin another day.” She patted his hand. “Maybe you can stab more people next time.”

That, at least, got a smile out of him. She shifted over on her bed and he took the hint, moving to stretch out next to her. Normally the temperature of his skin was a bit of a nuisance, annoying, but he was otherwise enjoyable enough to make it worth it. Now, the chill of him felt wonderful against her still sore head. Never one to be subtle, she caught his hand and pressed it to her forehead.

 She felt his chuckle rumble in his chest even as he started to gently massage her temples. Sinking into him, surrounded by his crisp, winter scent, she thought she could quite easily fall asleep this way.

“Your attack dog is quite formidable,” he said after a while. “I should find one of my own. Wherever did you find her?”

“Hmm? You mean Hilde? I’ve known Hilde since we were children.” He didn’t respond, but his silence was somehow expectant.

She sighed. And she’d been so close to sleep. “When Asgard attacked the palace my mother was able to get me out. She told me to run, as far and as fast as I could.” Those memories were a crush of blood and noise and fear but she remembered those words quite clearly. “So I did. All day and into the night. Until I was dizzy with exhaustion, feet bleeding in my slippers.

“A merchant was driving his wagon out of the Capital, away from the fighting. He found me staggering along the road and recognized me. I tried to run away from him - I had no idea who was friend or foe by that point - but he caught me easily and lifted me into his wagon and brought me to his house.”

He was still stroking her forehead gently, though the rest of him was very still and silent. “He and his wife fought,” Syn continued. “She feared there would be repercussions. He wanted to know if she’d prefer he leave a little girl to die on the road. While they were arguing his daughter found me hiding under the table and sat with me. When the merchant finally convinced his wife to keep me, the little girl put her arm around me and said, quite matter-of-factly, ‘I suppose we’re sisters now.’” She smiled at the memory. “I had never had a sister before.”

“And she’s been with you ever since.” Statement and not question.

“Someday I’m going to need to send her off to live her own life,” Syn admitted. “She is perhaps loyal to a fault and will take no time for her own while she thinks I need her.” Syn was fairly certain there was no husband or cradle in her future. But Hilde deserved it. She should have a dozen chubby babies to care for and not one jaded queen.

“Loyalty like that is rare,” Loki said. She had no doubt where his thoughts had turned. He hated to speak of his youth, his family, and she had long ago stopped asking. His scars ran deep, as deep as hers, invisible though they were. She wasn’t cruel enough to rip them open.

She shifted and curled closer to him, hoping her presence was some small comfort to him. “It’s not safe for me to visit you here,” she said quietly. “I’m a risk to you when you can’t maintain your glamour in my presence.”

His lips pressed to her temple. “I suppose we’ll have to keep our dalliances to your realm.” He heaved a put-upon sigh. “What a burden you are.”

“It will make supervising your army easier,” she offered.

“That it will.” He took a deep breath, chest moving beneath her hand. “They’ll be ready for battle soon. My little puppet has them worked up to a fever pitch. We’ll topple Asgard and from there the rest of the realms will crumble.”

She thought, perhaps, he was being a little optimistic about the simplicity of his plan, but she was in no shape to debate it now. She was comfortable and sleepy, in the arms of her lover. Thoughts of war could wait.

As if sensing her mood, Loki quieted and kissed her forehead again. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For protecting me. Though I wish you hadn’t hurt yourself in the effort.”

She was beginning to regret her impetuousness, as well. Still, she said, “I will always do my best to protect you.” _Even from yourself_ , she vowed silently.


	15. Clever Fools

_I am not yours, not lost in you,_  
 _Not lost, although I long to be_  
 _Lost as a candle lit at noon,_  
 _Lost as a snowflake in the sea._  
\--Sara Teasdale, I Am Not Yours

 

One of the numerous perks to being the queen, or really anyone in the royal family, was that you were never stood up. In fact, generally, you never had to wait for anyone. One did not keep her majesty waiting.

Unless, of course, one was another realm leader, a notorious trickster of questionable sanity who was sleeping with said queen. Then, apparently, you could show up whenever you damn well pleased.

Syn had expected Loki hours ago. He was usually done with his little rebellion leading puppet by midnight, leaving them plenty of time to chat before retiring to bed. She should probably learn the puppet’s name, but she was attempting to stay as far away from that possible. Plausible deniability was a frail but powerful thing.

She had drunk perhaps a little too much wine and begun to nurse a grudge when he finally made his appearance, in his usual flare of green.

“Excellent, you’re still awake,” he said, crossing to pour himself what remained of the wine.

That was probably as close to an apology as she was going to get. She sighed and sipped her wine. “How was your meeting?”

“Productive.” He sank into the chair opposite her. “We attack soon.”

Her brow arched. “Soon? How soon?”

“A week perhaps. As soon as Nasir can spread the word amongst the troops.”

Syn shifted, sitting forward. “Isn’t that rather. . . rushed? What of Thor? Or the Warriors Three? What of Asgard’s army?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “What of them? Thor is on Midgard, as usual. The Warriors have conveniently been sent off world on peacekeeping missions. And the Asgardian army will be unprepared and lacking a leader when Odin is unable to be found.”

She pursed her lips, sipping her wine again. She wondered how much of his bravado was confidence and how much was ego. Loki was clever and could, when he wanted, plan out intricate, multi step strategies and keep far ahead of his enemies. She had seen glimpses of it at the realm summit. But he was also prone to getting swept up in his own cleverness. He thought himself smarter than his enemy and neglected to make contingency plans. It had happened when he tried to conquer Midgard and look how well that had ended for him.

“You seem less than enthused, my dear,” Loki said.

There was a certain amount of menace to the question that she couldn’t ignore. It was time to tread very carefully. “I’m simply advising caution,” she said, keeping her voice light. “You’ve only been working with your little puppet for six months. It seems premature to attack so soon.”

He drank his own wine before answering. “Revolutions are wars based on passion. If I don’t strike while the iron is hot the interest will wane.”

Well, now he was just baiting her. She arched a brow. “I ran a revolution, if you’ll recall. It was meticulously planned and carefully structured over several years. We didn’t even have plans to attack the capital properly until they provoked us.”

“You mean when they captured you and tortured you?” His tone was biting, harsher than she had heard in quite some time.

And with that, treading carefully went right out the window. “If you’re going to be cruel for the sake of it you can go back to your cold throne in Asgard,” she told him, voice dangerously quiet.

“I just expected you, of all people, to be a bit more supportive of my plans.”

“I would be if your plans consisted of more thought than hitting people with swords and imagining everything will work out perfectly just as you’ve always hoped.”

He leaned forward, hunched like a serpent. “Are you calling me short sighted?”

“Impetuous,” she retorted. “Rash. Reckless. Injudicious.”

“Enough. You’ve made your point.” He stood, pacing in front of her fireplace. “I’m sure you have never done anything brash. Never let yourself get a little hot headed and just throw yourself into a scheme.”

If she was one to be cruel for the sake of cruelty she would comment on a frost giant advocating being hold blooded. “I didn’t say that.”

“Queen Syn. Always calm. Always cool. Always with a plan to keep her hands clean.”

Her eyes narrowed. “My hands are far from clean, Loki. And I have been extremely rash on occasion.” She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. It played right into his hands.

“‘Extremely rash?’ How so? Did you wear last season’s gown to this year’s ball? Use the wrong fork at one of you interminable feasts?”

He was still pacing, it put her at a distinct disadvantage. As this was quickly becoming more of a battle than a conversation, she stood and turned to watch him. “You confuse me with the part you had me play for your brother. Pettiness doesn’t become you, your majesty.”

He faced her, hands behind his back and a false smile on his face. “I’m just deathly curious as to what horribly ill thought out decisions you might have made.”

She crossed her arms and summoned her most dismissive tone, “I am not going to dignify this-”

“Just one,” he taunted. “Other than getting yourself captured.”

Fighting her ire, she closed her eyes and refused to answer. Loki took a step towards her. “Nothing. You can’t name one.”

“I don’t owe you any-”

“Just. _One_.”

“Loki-”

“One. One rash, impulsive, poorly thought out-”

She whirled on him and snapped, “I fell in love with _you_!”

The silence that followed that little outburst was complete and absolute. Syn could hear her own heartbeat, the rasp of Loki’s harsh, stricken breathing. She should probably take it back. Try to apologize, if that was the correct term for trying to make amends for loving someone who seemed horrified by the concept.

Whatever spell the words had put him under snapped and he strode towards her. In those few steps he was all wolf, all predator. There was none of the tender, almost hesitant lover she had known these last months. Still, she stood her ground, even when his hand wrapped roughly around her throat.

“Don’t you ever say that to me again,” he told her through gritted teeth.

She held his gaze, torn between fear of his temper and her certainty he no longer had it in him to kill her. His hand wasn’t even cutting off her air. “You can forbid me from saying it,” she replied softly. “You cannot forbid me from feeling it.”

His fingers tightened slightly and she forced herself not to flinch. He made a noise that might have been rage or grief and released her, disappearing in a flare of green.

Syn staggered back a step, touching her throat instinctively. She took a deep, shuddering breath, sinking back into her chair. Her eyes burned and she took another breath, letting it out slowly. Then in again.

She reached for her wine glass and sipped it, though the fine wine now tasted like ashes in her mouth.

Queens did not cry.

*

He was a fool.

He knew he was a fool. Had known it when he’d gripped her throat, when he’d made his threats. When he’d left her, running like a coward at the first hint of her emotions.

Loki prided himself on his gifts. His magic, his cleverness. For most of his life he’d been quite confident in the fact he was smarter than those who surrounded him. He did not like to think he was acting foolish.

He spent the day after their . . . he supposed ‘fight’ was the correct term, drifting about the palace rather aimlessly. He imagined Odin’s advisors were rather concerned at his behavior, though none of them said a word to him.

In the evening, around the time he normally would have taken himself to Alfheim, he instead found himself in his mother’s room. He had not visited there since his return from Midgard, but it seemed Odin had refused to have it cleaned out after her death. Everything was the way Loki remembered it from his youth, down to the clutter of cosmetics and jewels on her vanity and the half finished weaving on her loom. It was so perfectly preserved he could believe she had simply gone away on a trip and would be returning soon.

He sank onto the little bench that sat in front of the vanity and toyed with a compact of pressed powder. How many hours had he spent here in this room? Watching his mother get ready for one event or another. Reading or studying as she worked on her loom. As a child it had been a haven and retreat for him. Somewhere quiet he could escape to when Thor and his friends were playing roughly. Even amongst the sharp pain of loss he felt at her memory the sights and scents of this room brought him comfort.

What would Frigga tell him to do? After she finished yelling at him for his actions in the years since her death. He had never had much cause to come to her for romantic advice. Certainly he’d never had a problem like this before.

_”Always so perceptive. About everyone but yourself.”_

He had thought once that his mother wouldn’t like Syn. He wondered now if that had been inaccurate. Frigga had admired strong women. Syn might not rule the way his mother did, but she held her own in a game played and written by men. Frigga might have frowned on her methods, but she could not have denied the results.

In this particular misunderstanding, she would certainly be on Syn’s side. She better than anyone in the realms, knew how difficult it could be to love him. That alone would endear Syn to her. 

Her words the night before had stunned him, rocked him to the core. Though, he had to give her credit, it had been an efficient way of ending the petty little game he had been playing with her. Pride bruised at her questioning his battle plans, he had immediately gone on the defensive. And when she hadn’t reacted strongly enough. . . well, that just meant he’d had to try harder. It should be a good thing that she refused to rise to his bait. He should want a woman who couldn’t be provoked into anger.

_”Always so perceptive.”_

He had, in some ways, suspected she loved him. They hadn’t spoken of it, obviously. There’s was an engagement that would do better without emotions. They were twisted creatures and well aware of it. What place did love and affection have in their world, their lives? Loving someone, having someone that loved you, that was a weakness. A soft spot an enemy could use to turn the tide against you. Entanglements were for those who didn’t want to win. Need to win. And Loki very much needed to win.

The only rash thing she had ever done. A fitting description to loving him. It certainly wasn’t anything anyone would choose to do, was it?

 And yet. She hadn’t taken it back. Hadn’t belittled the words or scoffed at his reaction. He was quite certain that, if he managed to make amends and see her again, she would never say it again. But, as she said, it didn’t mean she would stop feeling it.

Loki picked up a jeweled necklace that lay in a tangle of green gems and gold. He rubbed his thumb along the smooth jade stones, wiping away the fine layer of dust that had accumulated since its mistress had left it. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Being loved. He could endure it, surely. He had, after all, pursued her because he was lonely. Had found comfort in her arms and her company. Knowing she loved him wouldn’t change any of that, not really.

And if something happened, and it was between her and the plans he had worked so hard to put in motion? Well, she of all women would understand what his choice had to be.

Turning his hand this way and that, he watched the necklace swing, lamplight glinting off the polished stones.They brought to mind the way Syn’s eyes shone when he had amused her or they were playing their game of words. He stifled a sigh. He was far gone, wasn’t he?

He glanced out the window, gauging the time. She would be awake, perhaps expecting him to come and grovel. Or, perhaps, she thought she would never see him again. Perhaps she never wanted to.

Well, he had never been one to back away from a challenge. Closing his fist around the necklace, he pictured her bedchamber and called upon his magic to take him there.

A fire blazed in the hearth, though the chairs before it were empty. He didn’t see her habitual bottle of wine on the side table, either. For a moment, a series of worse case scenarios spilled through his head. She had taken another lover. She was off at some country estate to sulk. His idiot puppet had decided to start his own revolution and she had been caught in the crossfire.

Then there was a soft sound behind him and he turned to find her coming out of her washroom, already in her nightgown. She stopped when she saw him. There no reaction to his presence, no flicker of surprise, no arched brow. Her face remained completely neutral. She folded her hands in front of her and waited, not even tilting her head expectantly.

He hadn’t expected her to make it easy. “I believe that the appropriate thing to do in circumstances such as this is shower you with expensive gifts and apologies.”

Her mouth quirked ever-so-slightly. “I would be a place to start,” she conceded.

He pulled his hand out from behind his back and opened it, letting the necklace dangle from his index finger. “It was my mother’s,” he said, seeing another flicker of reaction at his words. “The stones reminded me of your eyes.”

She studied his face a moment, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Apparently, she liked whatever she saw there, because she stepped closer and held her hand out, letting him pour the necklace into her cupped palm. She ran the stones between her fingers. “It’s lovely, thank you,” she said quietly. She lifted her gaze to his face again. “And the second part?”

Apologies. Right. He had never been good at these. But he was not quite ready to let her go yet. “I am. . . perhaps oversensitive to criticism. To the point I may see it where none is intended. I regret my reaction to your comments. In retrospect, I see that they were well meant. I should not have been so childish and reactive in my response.”

Without answering, she nodded a little and stepped closer again, so that they were almost touching. She stretched up to speak softly in his ear. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you didn’t actually say ‘I’m sorry’ in there anywhere?”

Loki nuzzled at her hair, breathing in the scent of her. “I’d rather hoped,” he murmured.

He could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. “I suppose we could just assume it was implied?”

“I’d be grateful.”

She chuckled. “Apology accepted.” She kissed his cheek. “And the necklace is beautiful.”

Something tense and painful unclenched inside him and he slipped his arms around her. He had not realized he’d feared her not forgiving him. He honestly wasn’t sure what he would have done with himself if she hadn’t.

With that in mind, he offered her the greatest olive branch he could. “Tell me, my Truth. How would you run my revolution?”


	16. The Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left!

_When the stars threw down their spears_  
 _And water'd heaven with their tears:_  
 _Did he smile his work to see?_  
 _Did he who made the Lamb make thee?_  
\--William Blake The Tyger

 

It took months for Syn and Loki to formulate a plan that satisfied them both. Not willing to risk everything on luck and ignorance, Syn insisted on waiting until it was the holiday season on Midgard, so that Thor would be distracted by his woman and human friends. With him entertained, they concocted tasks for the Warriors Three on Vanaheim, Svartlheim, and Muspelheim so that their attentions were wide spread and they would be unable to confer amongst themselves. 

With his main enemies well occupied, Syn suggested arranging a distraction for Heimdall, the gatekeeper. He had argued it was unnecessary, as he would be bringing his rebels in through a secret passage and not through the Bifrost. Her counter argument had been to point out that, secret passage or not, he could not hide an entire army once they were on Asgardian soil and Heimdall could easily raise the alarm and end the battle before it began. Even Loki had to concede that his ability to hide from the gatekeeper had limits and agreed that a diversion would be helpful.

Thus began the task of finding something or someone to use as a distraction. The quest for a suitable method of disturbance occupied Loki for several weeks. So long, in fact, that his puppet and his revolutionaries grew restless and started rattling their sabers a bit louder than usual. This began to cause Syn trouble, as lords and merchants came to her with their concerns. Supply chains were being interrupted, workers were going on strike and threats had been made. It became obvious that the puppet was going to need to have the fear of the monarch put in him.

“I thought you wanted to avoid involvement with Nasir,” Loki said after she announced she wanted to meet with the puppet.

Nasir. That was his name. She should probably start remembering that. “I said I didn’t want to involve myself with him in case you had to kill him. Seems at this point we’re more or less stuck with him.”

“That’s probably true,” he said thoughtfully. “But I can calm him down on my own if you still wish to maintain distance.”

She scowled at her closet, debating outfit options. Royal gown or incognito? One had gravitas, the other would put him more at ease. “I am not doubting your grip on him,” she said over her shoulder. “Just that we could make it a bit tighter. I imagine knowing his queen is on your side will keep him quiet for as long as we need.”

“I admit, I am looking forward to watching you work your magic on him.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a smile and wink. “Now, now, darling. I save most of my magic for you.”

He grinned widely at that. “Are you deciding what to wear?”

“Costume is an essential part of theater,” she said defensively, turning back to the closet.

“Oh, I’m not mocking, for once. Appearance is everything. May I make a suggestion?”

“Please do, or I may spend the entire evening here.”

He didn’t respond immediately so she turned back to look at him again. He was studying her, head tipped back, looking thoughtful. “You wore a particularly imposing one at the summit last year. Black, embroidered with thorns. I believe it’s my favorite of your gowns.”

Her brows arched almost of their own accord. He had a favorite dress? She didn’t know why that surprised her, he was observant and, frankly, more fashion conscious than the average man. Perhaps it was the fact that she hadn’t worn that gown in front of him since the summit. Which meant it had stuck in his head before they were more than cautious allies and stayed there for almost an entire year.

Tamping down on the girlish feelings those thoughts brought up, she dug through the gowns and found the one he mentioned. It was clean and pressed, so she stepped behind her privacy screen to step into it.

She heard Loki laugh and she cinched herself into the dress. “I’ve seen you naked, sweating and sprawled beneath me. Yet I can’t see you dress yourself?”

“There is nothing attractive about getting into a corseted gown,” she retorted. Usually Hilde helped her with the ties, but she had the night off. Syn had been giving her more and more of those as the battle at Asgard neared. She wanted to keep her friend as far from that potential fire bomb as possible. A little creative bending and some magic and she got the gown on properly.

The gold jewelry that normally went with the gown was in a pouch in her wardrobe. She fastened the necklace, earrings, bracelet and waist chain before stepping out from the screen.

Loki’s expression when he saw her was absolutely priceless. “Yes,” he said, voice tight. “That dress.”

“This,” she said, gesturing at him with a flick of her fingers. “Is the other reason I didn’t let you watch me dress. The grand reveal is a proud, time honored female tradition.”

He got to his feet slowly, strolling over to her side. His fingers trailed along the talon-like charms that dangled off her waist. “You’re never more the viper than in this gown,” he murmured.

In the weeks since their little spat Syn had completely avoided even implying that she was in love with him. He had seemed more than willing to put it behind them, focusing on their plans of war and the more simple emotions of lust and camaraderie. As she was not yet ready to lose his company, she was willing to play his game of avoidance.

But, in these last weeks, she had started to suspect that there were all manner of ways to say I love you. She certainly said it every time she advised caution and patience in their plans of war. In the goblet of wine or mead she had ready for him in the evening. In the quiet, uncomplicated way she trusted him, even when he didn’t seem to think himself worth it. She said it in every way she thought she could get away with, since the words themselves were barred to her.

And, she was starting to realize, he might be saying it back. When he offered her a hand or placed one at the small of her back to help her balance. In the soft, heartfelt compliments he gave her, when none needed to be said. In the careless way he occasionally left things in her chamber after he had left. There was a pair of soft leather slippers that now seemed to live under her bed permanently. The unspoken words were in every little piece of himself he showed her, more every day, it seemed. Even if he never found it in him to say it or to let her say it again, she thought she might be able to be content with the way things were.

She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly. “I’m glad to know you like it. I can wear it more often for you.”

He nuzzled a spot behind her ear, making her shiver. “I might not be able to contain myself,” he told her. His palms flattened on her back and he tugged her closer, into the cool wall of his chest. For a moment, despite the fact they had to go meet the puppet - Nasir, she reminded herself - he just held her and she enjoyed the embrace.

They did try to carve out moments of time together. But as the time for war neared they were growing few and far between. Day by day, Syn grew more convinced they were missing something and this was all going to blow up in their faces. She didn’t know where the certainty came from, she was not, generally, a worrier. But no matter how intricate and detailed their plans were, she could not shake her fears.

Far too quickly, Loki leaned back and kissed her brow. “Come. We shouldn’t make him wait too long.” A sudden, wicked smile split his face. “I can’t wait to see this face when he meets you.”

She laughed. It was so easy to get caught up in his mischief. “I’ll try not to frighten him too much. Don’t want to make him useless as a figurehead.”

The grin softened and he dipped his head to kiss her. “That’s my queen.”

*

One visit from a very imperious Queen Syn the Truthful was all it took to get Nasir back in line. Loki greatly enjoyed watching her make him squirm. Most of their time together was spent behind closed doors, where she could be more herself, comfortable in her own skin. He so rarely got to see her in her full queen persona. It was attractive in a way that surprised him. He was fairly certain it surprised her, as well, that night, once they had retired to her bed chamber.

Getting the boy under control allowed them to finish the rest of their plans. Soon, the date was set, the last domino placed. He sent the Warriors off on their long list of missions and just waited for the small group of rebels that had infiltrated Asgard to begin their rioting. That distraction would draw the attention of Heimdall and the Asgardian army, leaving the palace open for Loki and his troops. Once he was on the throne in his own name he could move on to the rest of the realms.

“I wish you were coming with me,” he murmured into her shoulder as they lay in bed the night before the planned attack. “I would fight better with you at my side.” He could picture her quite clearly in his mind’s eye. Bedecked in leather and metal, her staff in one hand, magic flowing easily from the other. She would be a sight to behold, a force to be reckoned with. Together they could tear down anything in their path.

“Hmm.” The noise she made was almost a purr. “I have had my fill of battlefields.” She shifted, rolling over in his arms to face him. “Besides, I need to be here, to make sure you have somewhere safe to run to if things go poorly.”

He ignored his first, instinctive flare of offense at the implication things might not go as perfectly as he planned. Syn was cautious. She had seen first hand the tragedy that could come from a failed military maneuver. And he rather liked the idea of her holding down the fort here. Ready to welcome him with open arms no matter what the outcome.

When was the last time he had anyone waiting for him to come home? Who would accept failure as gracefully as they would success? Even his mother, supportive as she had always been, had had expectations of him. She might not have expected him to be Thor, but she had wanted him to be a prince. To represent Asgard. Even when Asgard had felt more like a burden than a heritage.

Syn leaned in to kiss him softly. “Have you gone wandering in your head?”

“Only a little.” He tangled his hands into her hair. “I was picturing you welcoming me home at the end of battle.”

“Ah,” she said softly. “With wine and rich food. To comfort or celebrate as the needs demand.”

“Exactly.” He kissed her again. They would live for thousands of years and he would never grow tired of her kisses. The taste and feel of her. The sound of his name on her lips or the multitude of nicknames she had given him.

“Might I ask a favor of you, dear Trickster?” she murmured into his mouth.

“Anything you wish,” he vowed, nuzzling a spot on her jaw.

“Don’t be hasty,” she said quietly, almost under her breath. “I know we have tried to time the attack in the hopes your brother would be too occupied to engage before it’s too late. But there is a chance he may join the fight. If he does, I would ask you to do all that you can to prevent killing him.”

It was as if someone had doused him in freezing water. He leaned back a bit to look at her full in the face. “What?”

She held his gaze fearlessly, as always. “Don’t kill your brother. Unless there is no other option.”

Loki studied her intently, trying to think of any reason she might have for such a request. There was no great love lost between her and Thor. To the best of his knowledge, they had only interacted when she was playing her naive and silly role. She had barely spoken to the great blond oaf. “Why?” he asked finally.

She lifted a hand, stroking his cheek lightly with her knuckles. “We are both broken people,” she said quietly. “Both spent time pulling ourselves together as best we can. Filling in gaps when we need to. But I have lost a brother, suddenly and violently. You have a . . . soft spot for Thor. Whether you like it or not, whether you admit it or not, it’s there. And I fear that if you kill him then you will shatter so horribly that there won’t be enough left of you to put back together.”

He wanted to deny it. To mock the very idea of it and her for suggesting it. But here in her bed, tangled up with her as he was, it was difficult to lie, even to himself. Irritating as he usually found him, unfair though their youth had been, Thor was his brother. As much as Frigga had been his mother. And, like her, he did still harbor a certain amount of fondness for the man. He had thought he hid it well, but Syn had a way of seeing the truth, even when words weren’t spoken.

Still, he wasn’t entirely eager to agree to the terms. Battle was hectic and he couldn’t be holding back in the middle of it. Could he?

“I suppose you want me to swear by the Tree,” he muttered, toying with a lock of her hair.

She smiled, looking almost relieved. She had probably assumed her would bluster and yell and disappear at her suggestions. “Nothing so grand. And I will understand if drastic measures are necessary. War is what it is and death is a fact of it. All I ask is that you try.”

Such a large loophole she was leaving him. She really must love him. The least he could do was humor her. “What shall I swear it by, then?”

Her eyes softened and she looked almost sad when she replied, “Swear by the piece of me you’re taking with you.”

Once again, he felt frozen, doused in ice water. And, once again, he wished he could deny it. Wished he could claim this had stayed casual and unentangled. But he’d known for a very long time it was more than that. And, truth be told, he was likely leaving a part of himself with her as well.

He bent close and kissed her lightly. “I so swear.”

She made a little noise that might have been a surprised laugh. She wove her fingers into his hair, holding him close to kiss him back.

 Shifting to roll her beneath him, he deepened the kiss, hands trailing over her bare skin. He had claimed her less than an hour before, but he was already eager for her again. She seemed to be of the same mindset, as she bracketed his hips with her thighs, notching him against the heat of her sex.

He lifted his head, looking down at her. He studied her face a moment and she smiled widely. She lifted a hand and touched his face, fingertips tracing his jaw line, his cheek bone. Her eyes all but glowed with unspoken emotion. He bent close and kissed her again to stop them from spilling forth. In the same instant he rolled his hips forward, sliding deep into her wet heat.

It was exciting as it had been the first time. It was so easy to get lost in her arms. To lose himself in the pleasure he found there. A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered to him; suggesting he forget the battle, forget Asgard and find some way to stay with her, just as they were. He was confident in his success, his army. But every war had risks and he was not blind to that. This could be their last night together. He should make it memorable for her.

Loki kept the pace slow and steady, watching the pleasure play across his lover’s face. He had seen her at the negotiation table, engaging in all manner of politics and intrigue. For a woman devoted to the truth Syn could hide a thousand secrets with her smile. But here and now, with him buried inside her, she could hide nothing from him. He could watch her pleasure grow and build, until she was arching beneath him, body clenching on his, mouth open in a silent ‘o’ of release.

He found his satisfaction mere moments later, burying himself as deep within her as he could. She clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he shook. When he had calmed he dropped soft, affectionate kisses on her cheeks and brow before rolling to the side.

They avoided any more conversation, finding sleep wrapped up together under her soft sheets. In the morning, he slipped soundlessly from bed and donned his armor. She watched him, head propped up on one hand, enigmatic expression on her face.

“I will send word when the throne is mine,” he told her, leaning down for one more searing kiss.

Her smile was immediate, but oddly sad. “Good battle, Trickster. I hope to see you soon.”

Afraid that if he said anymore one or both of them would regret it, he sketched her an elegant bow and took his leave.


	17. Wolves and Vipers

_To see the world in a grain of sand_  
 _And heaven in a wild flower;_  
 _Hold infinity in the palm of you hand,_  
 _And eternity in an hour._  
\-- William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

_Act as though nothing is wrong._

It was Syn’s mantra for the day. Much as she might have liked to lurk in her study with a scrying glass or flame watching Loki’s every move, she had a kingdom to run. And run it she did. A council meeting in the morning, followed by several sit-downs with various spies. She went through the motions, holding court as she always did, taking notes and asking all the right questions. Her heart wasn’t in it, but her mind was, at least enough to keep anyone from being suspicious.

Her heart. . . her heart was on Asgard, waiting to see how the battle fared. There was no news, good or ill, and she tried to tell herself that was for the best. A war took as long as it took and if there was no message it meant the fighting was too hectic for a messenger to get out. And if Loki was dead the fighting would be over.

The day ended with still no word and she readied for bed with a frowning Hilde attending her. The maid mercifully refrained from an interrogation, working in suspicious silence. Syn didn’t know what she would say if her friend did ask anything. She didn’t think Hilde would approve of Loki’s war and Syn was in no mood for a lecture or disapproving noises. On the other hand, she rather wanted to spill everything and cry in the other woman’s lap. 

Except queens did not have the luxury of tears.

So she passed a lonely evening in front of the fire with her favorite book from childhood, a collection of Alfan fairy tales her mother had read to her often. The simple tales soothed and saddened her in equal measure. If only her life had had such a facile author. To give her a grand happy ending worthy of a lost princess.

But, she supposed she’d had a happy ending. Watching her brother on his coronation, the two of them finally home after years of exile. A person reading her life story who closed it on that page would be left thinking it quite a triumphant fairy tale. Perhaps happy endings were only a matter of knowing when to stop. Maybe the dragons were never really defeated, the thrones never really reclaimed. There was always another monster to slay, another conqueror to battle.

She sighed and snapped the book closed. This was doing nothing for her mood. She should have gone for light poetry or a romance. Something that might be bittersweet but not hit quite so close to home.

Sleep eluded her, and she tossed and turned throughout the night, wondering if it would have been better to have gone with him. At least on the battlefield if you were unable to sleep it was usually because you were too busy fighting. She would have welcomed a night on a cold pallet in the middle of winter if it had meant knowing Loki was alive or dead.

The day dawned with ominous storm clouds darkening the sky. It was like no weather she had ever seen before. As if a storm was raging high above them but not yet touching the sky. She would have liked to pretend she had no idea what it all meant. But it was impossible to pretend.

After breakfast, she found herself out in the courtyard, head tipped back to watch the churning clouds and the light flashing behind them. Her stomach twisted at the sight of it.

“Never seen weather like this,” said a voice at her side.

She glanced at Colm, who had come up at her shoulder. “Very unusual,” she agreed.

“My ma would probably say the gods were warring.”

Theism wasn’t common in Alfheim, but it wasn’t unheard of. Syn’s mother had come from religious people, though she had never passed on any beliefs to her children. “I had no idea you believed in any gods, Colm.”

He clucked his tongue, making a little tsking noise. “Believe might be too a strong word. Though it can be nice to have someone to thank on the good days and curse on the bad ones.”

Syn smiled at that. “I suspect today might be a bad one,” she admitted.

He looked down at her, slightly concerned. “Do you?”

She nodded slowly. “It would be wise to have the guards, well, on guard, as it were.”

Colm smiled and inclined his head. “I’ll see to it.” He sketched her the slightest of bows and walked away.

Looking back up at the sky, she watched the clouds a few more moments. At one point she swore she saw a flash of green behind them and felt her first, proper spike of fear. On instinct, she turned and strode back into the palace, alert to any taste of winter in the air.

She made it all the way back to her office without even a hint of it. She was just starting to let herself breathe again when Hilde came hurtling down the hallway to reach her. “Come with me right now,” she hissed, fingers digging into Syn’s arm.

Without a word, she let Hilde drag her back up the hall. She realized they were headed for her bedroom and second before the other woman pushed the door open. Hilde hauled Syn inside and slammed the door closed behind them.

Loki lay sprawled on the rug by the cold fireplace and based on the smears of red on his armor and visible skin, the poor carpet would likely never be the same.

“I was making your bed and he just appeared,” Hilde said. “In a less dramatic flash of green than usual.”

Syn felt frozen, caught between wanting to run to him and check his wounds and being too afraid of what she would find. “Is he alive?” she asked, voice unrecognizable.

“He’s breathing,” Hilde responded, almost hesitantly. 

That snapped Syn’s bonds and she lurched forward, crossing the room to his still form and dropping to her knees beside him. There was a long gash along his ribs, armor torn and burnt to reveal bloody, charred flesh. The right side of his face was badly bruised and bloody, the product of several hits from his brother’s hammer, she imagined. And that was just the wounds she could see.

She laid her hands on his throat and over his chest and sank her magic into him, finding the worst of the injuries and healing them. There were bones broken in his face, as well as swelling near his brain. She found battered organs and broken ribs and arms. Healing everything would sap her of strength and she had a feeling she would need her wits about her for whatever was to come. But she fixed the worst of it, the most painful, and trusted in his natural healing ability to take care of the rest. He was Jotun and they could handle quite a lot of damage. One of her older guardsmen had fought in the Jotun war and claimed to have watched a frost giant chase his own severed head across a battlefield. Syn didn’t really believe it, but the fact anyone did said much about the kind of wounds Jotun could survive.

As she worked, all she could think was _This is my fault._ She had asked him to let Thor live, hoping he would find another ending to their feud. In doing so, she had crippled him in the fight. You couldn’t hold back against someone who wanted you dead. A fight to the death worked both ways or the ending was already decided. If Loki hadn’t been hampered by his promise -

_No._ This was Loki. He might mean a promise when he spoke it, but he would break it easily once it was no longer in his best interest. Even a promise to her. If he was this badly beaten then Thor would be equally so. She had asked he only kill him if there were no other options. Loki would not risk his life when there was that big of a loop hold for him to slip through. Blaming herself was the first step in giving up, letting what was sure to come roll over her like a wave, until she drowned in it. And Loki needed her to keep swimming.

She lifted her hands, rocking back to inspect him. His breathing was easier now and the swelling was down in his face. He was still badly bruised and his armor was probably done for, but he no longer looked on death’s door. 

Good. Time to move to the next thing. Think, Syn. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, taking long, slow, deep breaths through her nose. If Loki was here then things had gone poorly. The battle was lost, or nearly so. She had no doubt that Thor had somehow gotten involved and had turned the tide for them all. Loki’s wounds were clearly from Mjolnir and besides, she didn’t think even Asgard’s foot soldiers would have brought him this low on their own.

Then, obviously, he would go looking for Loki. He’d probably seen him teleport away. He’d assume he was no longer in Asgard. Where would he look first? He thought Loki had been dead all this time, he knew nothing about him. Didn’t know his allies or-

She cursed under her breath. Thor almost certainly knew Loki had been playing at being Odin. Loki would have taunted him with it even if he hadn’t sorted it out himself. And who was the one powerful realm leader Thor knew Odin was on good terms with? Despite Loki’s opinion of him, Thor wasn’t _stupid_. He would come see her and find out what she knew. She had as long as it took him to reach the same conclusion and slap a few bandages on. Then Asgard would be at her door.

Climbing to her feet, she turned to Hilde. “Pack two bags. One with simple clothes, my good knives and some coin and one for him with whatever you can get your hands on that might fit him, plus some herbs and bandages for the wounds I can’t handle right now. Then go to the stables and have a cart readied with two strong, steady horses. Have it brought to the back garden wall, we’ll sneak him out through the hidden passages.” The same passages she’d used to run from Asgard as a child, in fact. Best not to think on that right now.

Hilde nodded, probably already seeing her plan. She ran to find bags and Syn glanced down at Loki. He would be safe enough here while she did what she needed to do.

A simple finding spell lead her to Colm, out in the courtyard again, watching the storm dissipate. He didn’t look down when she joined him, but obviously knew she was there. “Seems it’s passed us by.”

If only that were true. “Could be that it’s only the eye of the storm.”

Still not looking at her, he replied, “That’s possible.”

“It is also possible the storm will find its way to our gates.”

Now he looked down at her. “My lady?”

“I have reason to believe Asgard will be arriving soon. Lead by Thor. He will want to speak with me. I need you and your men to stall him for a little while, so that I can take care of a few things.”

“Is this a social visit?” Colm asked quietly.

“No, I don’t think that’s the right term. Nor is it necessarily an act of war. I ask that while you stall him as long as you can, don’t attack him or his men. And if they seem ready to attack, stand down. I’d prefer no one die for me today.”

He was watching her intently now. Colm was clever, in the way she was clever. She wondered how much of what she wasn’t saying he understood. “My men would be happy to fight for you, your majesty.”

Her heart ached, tightening her chest. “I know. And I’m grateful for that. But I think there has been a great deal of death already today and choose not to add to it.” He didn’t respond and she turned back to look at her palace, studying it as if it was the first time she had seen it. “It’s funny. We count time in grids and lists. Hours, days, weeks, months, years, centuries. As if it was one long line that sprawls out to the end of everything. But taken on a grand scale, time is really quite cyclical. Boys grow to men and go to war and raise new boys to grow and go to war.”

“Syn,” Colm said softly. “Give me orders. Let me help. Tell me what’s happened.”

She sighed. Time was running out and she had more to do. But Colm had been at her side a very long time and she owed him some sort of answer. “I made a choice a while ago. It seemed the best choice at the time. I still believe it was the best. But it grew complicated and I. . . I am trying to mitigate the fall out as much as I can.”

 “What complicated it?”

“Love,” she said, smiling. “Loneliness. Past mistakes.” She turned back to him. “These are my orders, Colm. Stall Asgard but spill no blood. And when that is done go live your life. You’ve been an exemplary guard, a steadfast soldier and a good friend, Colm. Thank you.”

He looked shocked, as close to tears as she had ever seen the old man. Then he seemed to gather up his composure from somewhere and gave her a sharp, crisp nod. “You were an excellent general, my lady. And a good queen.”

His regard tightened her chest further, but she smiled. “Thank you for that.” He bent low at the waist to give her a proper, formal bow, the first she’d ever seen from him. Then he turned sharply and went to gather the guard.

Syn stopped at her office on her way back to her room and slipped the portrait of her and Boe out of the desk. She ran her thumb over the image of the two of them, young and fresh, fighting a fight they were sure they would win. If her story had ended there, if the steward had martyred her on the rack or under the lash, then that was the legacy she would have left behind. A hero of a rebellion. The lost princess. 

But it hadn’t ended there. She had kept going. Sharpened her teeth and walked with wolves. And here she was. Asgard at the doors and her throne in danger. Time was a circle and she was about to be crushed beneath the wheel.

Tucking the picture away, she hurried back to her room and found it in shambles, two bags packed and propped by the door. She opened them to find the one with Loki’s clothes and slid the picture inside. He lay by the fireplace still, breathing slow and steady. In the distance, she heard the crash of thunder.

Time to don her costume. She considered wearing her armor, but feared it would set the wrong tone. They were just two realm leaders having a meeting. She should dress as a queen.

She chose the gown Loki liked so much, black and thorny with golden claws wrapping her wrist, throat, and waist. She was just fastening on the last of her jewelry when Hilde bustled in, with her own bag of supplies, wearing a traveling gown and hat. “The wagon should be at the wall. We should go now, I’m hearing noise about a garrison of bloody warriors headed to our gate.

If Hilde noticed how impractical her gown was for travel she said nothing. Syn went to her jewelry box and plucked out the necklace Loki had given her and a slim golden ring that had been her mother’s. Then she strapped one of the bags Hilde had packed and between them they carried Loki out of the room through a series of secret passages and out into the back garden. 

The last leg, through the garden and out the back gate, was the hardest. She was sure they would be spotted at any moment. Somehow, they managed to get Loki into the back of the wagon and packed him in with the bags and covered him with blankets and furs. Syn stood on the wheel and touched his cheek, then tucked the necklace into his folded hands. She kissed her fingers and pressed them to his lips before stepping down and turning to Hilde.

“Take him and hide him somewhere while he finishes healing. Maybe one of the old rebellion hideouts. The caves or the valley. No one ever found either of those. You can’t tell me where-”

“What are you talking about?” Hilde said, a thread of panic in her tone. “You’re coming with us.”

“No,” Syn said softly. “I’m not.”

“But you. . . you had me pack a bag for you.”

“I knew that if I didn’t I’d never get you this far. I need to stay here and handle Thor when he comes. Try to stall him or throw him off Loki’s scent if I can.”

Hilde shook her head rapidly. “You can’t lie, how can you possibly-”

“That’s why you can’t tell me where you’re going,” Syn told her. 

“Just come with us,” her friend pleaded. “Please.”

“If he finds the palace empty he’ll know Loki is here somewhere. If I can play him, even for a few hours, it will give you time to get to safety.” She touched Hilde’s shoulder. “I’ve thought it through, Hilde. This is what I do. I have to stay.”

“But he’ll _kill_ you.”

For a moment, Syn thought of saying some melodramatic, Loki-worthy declaration about how she should have died a long time ago, in the first war with Asgard. It might be true, the thought didn’t stir her truthsense at all. But it wasn’t what had happened. She had lived, as had her brother. And all the decisions they had made since then had brought her here. Another queen sending those she loved away from Asgard’s warriors. “I don’t think he’ll kill me,” she said calmly. “He wants Loki and I’m his only link to him. He’ll keep me alive a very long time.”

“Syn. Please. You don’t have to do this.”

“Every story needs a villain, Hilde. I’ve played the part for a long while now. It’s time to face the consequences of that.”

“You aren’t a villain!” Hilde snapped. “You’re a good woman and a beloved queen.”

Much like Colm’s words, the description warmed and hurt at the same time. She caught Hilde’s shoulders in a gentle hold. “I think that depends on who’s writing the tale, my friend.”

Hilde’s tears spilled over and Syn drew her into an embrace, stroking her hair. “Take him somewhere safe. Stay until he wakes. Then go. Go somewhere else. Go home to the lake or somewhere by the ocean. Anywhere you like that isn’t here. Go away from politics and war and schemes. Find a good man who’ll adore you and raise babies with him. And when you tell them about the foolish queen you used to serve, tell them your version of her story. And we’ll see which one becomes my legacy.” She kissed Hilde’s cheek. “Please do that for me. Please?”

Her friend sniffled. “I wish you would come with us. He’s your stupid, bloody ally.”

Syn smiled. “I know. I need better taste in allies, don’t I?”

“You’ll only be worse without me,” Hilde grumbled, swiping her eyes and stepping back. “Give the blonde princeling a good run around.”

“Of course.” She helped the other woman up into the driver’s seat and stepped back, lifting a hand to wave as the wagon rolled away.

Her steps were heavy as she made her way back to the throne room. She trusted Hilde to get Loki to safety. After that. . . well, some things were beyond her control. The next few minutes would be very important.

Wolves and vipers could never find peace, she supposed. Wolves might find dens or caves, find a mate and a pack. But there would always be prey to chase and competition to drive off. Vipers might sun themselves in the summer light. But there would always be larger predators waiting to tread on them. Asgard’s foot hovered over her now and she would, as she’d once promised Loki, go down biting.

Her crown rested in a small cubby hole behind the throne. She settled the little gold circlet onto her head and stepped around the dais to her seat. Running her fingers along the back of the throne she wondered who would sit in it after her. There were no children to bide their time and reclaim it. No cousins to find, no distant relatives. Perhaps a lord would be appointed. Or another steward. Her poor people would manage somehow. Thor was not Odin; he would try to do what was best for them.

She heard voices outside the throne room doors. Raised male voices laced with anger. It was time to play her part.

Sinking into the throne, she arranged herself into a negligent pose, elbow braced on the arm, chin propped on her hand. With an idle flick of her fingers the huge double doors opened, revealing a line of her guards and a group of metal armored Asgardians beyond.

The guards noticed the doors open and parted, allowing the Asgardians through. Thor was at the head of the group and looked almost as bad as Loki had. There was a hastily tied bandage wrapped around his left bicep and a dark spot of blood on his side. A makeshift eyepatch hid his left eye and Syn had to rub a finger over her mouth to hide a smile. Loki had almost certainly done that on purpose. 

Thor stopped at the foot of the throne’s dais and looked up at her. She watched him take in her gown, her pose and saw his slow realization that she was not the empty headed git she had pretended to be. His face darkened with anger once it sank in.

“I suppose it’s King Thor now, isn’t it?” she said voice carrying throughout the room. “I’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Alfheim.”


	18. The Scorpion's Tail

_I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;_  
  _By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown;_  
  _Unless this general evil they maintain,_  
  _All men are bad and in their badness reign._  
\-- Shakespeare, Sonnet 121

Loki woke to the smell of wood smoke and roast fowl and a nagging ache in his side. His head was fuzzy and full of cotton wool. Opening his eyes seemed far too much effort at the moment, so he focused inwardly, doing an assessment of his aches and pains. He had a vague feeling that he should hurt worse than he did. Oh, his side was pained and he had the faint dregs of a headache flirting at the edges of his mind. But instinct told him he really shouldn’t be able to move at all.

He remembered Asgard, the battle. It had been going in their favor at the beginning. His army had taken the guard by surprise, as they had planned. But the distraction he had carefully arranged was thwarted quickly and the full focus of the army was then turned to Loki and his troops. And then, apparently, someone had gotten word to Thor. Maybe it had been Heimdall, or one of the guardsmen. Maybe Loki’s luck was so poor that Thor had simply decided to come visit at the worst time possible. In any case, arrive he had and then things had gone essentially the way every other fight he’d had with Thor went.

He had attempted to mind Syn’s request to not kill his brother. It had quickly become apparent that Thor had no such compunctions and then the methaphorical gloves had come off. It had, by far, been the most violent battle he had ever been a part of with Thor. Worse than the one of the bridge when he tried to destroy Jotunheim. Worse than the scuffle on the top of the Tower in Midgard.

They had ripped through the palace, knocking down pillars and putting each other through walls. He had struck several good blows - he was fairly confident Thor no longer had use of one of his eyes - but in a brief moment of distraction that blasted hammer had contacted his temple and the world had gone twisted and red. He had thought briefly of Syn and wished to see her, and then it had all gone dark.

But he was alive. Thor had struck to kill, why would he then save him? It was probably time to try opening his eyes and assess his situation.

The ceiling above him was stone, as was what he could see of the walls and the ground beneath him. He lay on rough blankets folded into a pallet, with heavy furs piled on top of him. A fire flickered off to his right and he forced himself to turn his head to look at it.

Syn’s red headed maid hunched by the fire, turning what looked like two small quail on a spit above it. For a heartbeat, he wondered what in all the realms she was doing in Asgard. Then he remembered that last thought he had had of Syn before he passed out and realized it had likely saved his life. Magic worked on will and intent. His must have taken him to Syn in his last moments of consciousness. He let out a little sigh of relief at the realization.

The woman turned to look at him and her eyes narrowed. “Finally awake, then?”

He ignored the hostility in her tone; she had never seemed to like him much. He licked his lips and managed to rasp, “Where?” The Alfan palace this was not.

“A cave several clicks west of the Capital.” She left the birds alone to bring him a cup of water which she held to his lips. “You’ve been asleep three days.”

He choked on the liquid filling his mouth and shoved the cup away, struggling to sit up. “Where’s Syn? What happened?”

The maid rocked back on her heels, leaning away from him. “You appeared in her rooms, half dead. She healed you up and sent me away with you, told me to hide you. She stayed behind in the hopes of sending your brother off the scent.”

“You left her behind?” he growled.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Have you ever succeeded in changing her mind once she’s made it up?”

That was probably a good point. He took a few deep breaths, then reached out for the cup, which she handed to him and moved away to tend the fowl again. “It’s been three days?” he asked and she nodded. “Have you heard anything of what happened to her?”

The woman was silent a moment. “Thor came with his guard. She gave them audience in her throne room. No one knows what was said, but she left with them for Asgard, leaving her captain of the guard in her place. Rumors are she’s being held for treason, or conspiracy or some other crime Thor could think of to excuse holding her.”

Thor wouldn’t execute her, Loki was fairly confident in that. His brother was many things, cold blooded was not one of them. And Syn would give him no reason to want her dead. So she would be safe, if imprisoned, for the time being. He had time to plan. The maid almost certainly knew who Syn’s allies were. Obviously she trusted the guard captain, though if he was now in power he might be unwilling to help. There would be other options. She had a network of spies. He had raised one army on this realm, he could muster another.

Hilde put a trencher with his share of supper down in front of him and hunkered by the opposite wall to eat hers. Suddenly, he was famished. He picked up the knife she had left with the trencher and sliced off a thick piece of breast. It was remarkably flavorful and moist for field game.

“In the morning we’ll leave and start gathering support to free her,” he announced.

“In the morning, you’re going to be on your own, Sunshine,” Hilde muttered around a a mouthful of food. “As soon as I’m done here I’m packing up and heading off. I’ll leave you food and one of the cart horses.”

He stared at her. “You’ll just leave. Abandon her to her fate? I thought you were loyal to her.”

The woman glared at him. “I promised her two things before she sent me away. One, to take care of you until you were awake. And two, to leave politics and war behind and live a good life. I intend to fulfill the second as well as I did the first. Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

Syn had made her swear to leave her? Why in all the realms would she do that? She must had known he would need the woman’s aid in getting a force together. As much time as he had spent on Alfheim he was still a stranger here. Finding support would be fraught and time consuming without a native’s input.

Or. . . was it that she hadn’t expected him to come for her? Did she really think he would just leave her there to waste away in Asgard’s cells? What did she think he would do with himself?

He watched Hilde finish her meal and tidy up, packing clothes and rolling up a pallet. “The food here will last you two or three days, long enough to get your strength back. The village that rebellion leader of yours was from is half a day’s ride south of here. It’s on the water, lots of new faces there, you’ll slip right in.”

“Do you really plan to abandon Syn like this?”

She didn’t even react to his prod, barely even glanced at him. “I’m doing as she asked me to do. She loves you, she wanted to protect you. If that was her last wish then I was happy to see to it. You’re well now and my life is my own.”

He ignored the mention of love. He needed to keep his head together, especially if he was going to be on his own. “She’s not your queen anymore. You don’t have to follow orders.”

“It wasn’t an order from a queen, it was a request from a friend and I will follow it. She wanted me out of your schemes and I want no part of them anyway. I’ve known her since we still played with dolls, you cannot manipulate me.”

Loki scowled down at the remains of his food. That was a probably a good point. Those easily swayed didn’t last long around people like he and Syn. Or, rather, they did, but as pawns, not confidantes.

“I just can’t believe she doesn’t want us to free her,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Hilde’s paused at that, glancing over at him. “She never knew what she was worth, not really. She stood in her brother’s shadow and called herself a villain.” Hilde shoved the last of her things into the bag and stood. “But she was my friend. And she deserved better than you.” With that, she turned and strode from the cave, into the grey twilight outside.

Loki listened to the sounds of her hitching a horse to a wagon, then the patter of retreating hoofbeats. He watched the sky outside the cave opening darken and finally rousted himself enough to add sticks to the fire and assess his supplies.

One bag held a pair of wicked daggers and some clothes that weren’t his but looked as if they would fit him well enough. There was also the jade necklace he’d given Syn and the little picture of her and her brother she had shown him once, long ago. He held them, sliding the stones of the necklace between his fingers. These were mementos. Things to remember her by. She had expected never to see him again.

Perhaps he was simply cursed to lose everyone he cared for. His friends, his mother. Thor. And now Syn. And to not realize that he _did_ care until it was far too late. Perhaps the price of being pulled off that barren rock on Jotunheim was a life of regret. Regret at what he had said and not said. Regret that he could not live a different life.

_”We are both broken people.”_

He studied the picture of Syn and her brother. She had already seen war and death then. But she smiled in the carefree way of the young. Here she was not broken, but only cracked a bit. Already she was learning to put others first. To make her brother laugh. To eventually step back into the shadows of his reign and pull the strings. And she had never stopped. Even now, she was trying to arrange things the way she wished. Protect him, free Hilde. Even put her choice of man on the throne. The only person she hadn’t given a happy ending to was herself.

_“Swear by the piece of me you’re taking with you.”_

There was a large piece of him with her right now. He had nothing left to fill it with. Revenge and power had brought him here, alone and injured in a cave on a strange realm. She had taken with her any warm or soft emotions he had left in him.

When his mother died he’d thought himself incapable of caring for anyone else. He had failed her when she had most needed him, what right did he have to find love or peace? And then a quick witted queen had stared him down without a flinch and offered him a deal. Really, he’d been lost from the first time she’d smiled that wry, twisted smile and called him Trickster.

She had said he was a wolf and she was a viper. Wolves went for the throat. A direct, bloody strike, much like the one he wanted to make on the prison to free her. Without planning and a significant force it would only end in him captured along with her. Or, more likely, dead.

Vipers were more subtle. They bit what they could reach and let their poison do its work. Even if killed it could ensure its attacker joined it in death. It was possible to lose the battle and still win the war.

Perhaps, if he was fated to carry a piece of her with him for the rest of his days, it was time to play the game the way she did. Just this once.

*

Syn had to admit, the prisons of Asgard were far more pleasant than the dungeon of Alfheim. She had a nice little cot and chair. Her own clothes. There were even books. Perhaps all royal prisoners were treated so well. Or perhaps she was being given special dispensation due to her supposed relationship with Loki.

It was still a prison, of course. There was no natural light. No clocks, no calendars. She counted her meals in an effort to track the days. By her count, she’d been there almost two months. No formal trial. No contact with the outside realms. And only one visitor.

By now, she could recognize Thor’s footsteps from the end of the corridor. She didn’t look up from the book she was reading, not even when he walked up the two steps outside the cell barrier and stood to look in at her. They both maintained a stubborn silence while she finished the page she was reading and marked her place before closing the book. “Is it time for another interrogation?” she asked pleasantly.

“I am, as always, simply here to talk.”

She stood, tossing her book onto the chair before strolling over to the barrier wall, glimmering a faint orange-gold. “I do love our little chats.”

Thor looked much as he had when he had come for her on Alfheim. His wounds had healed, save for the eye, which now sported a proper metal patch reminiscent of his father’s. He had aged in the last few months, though, the final battle and Loki’s disappearance weighing heavy on him. Syn couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. She’d had a crown thrust onto her head before she was ready, as well. In a different life they might have been good friends. But, well, in a different life many things could have been possible.

“Where is Loki?” he asked, beginning the conversation as he always did.

“I don’t know,” she replied, as she always did. This time she added, “And even if I did know where he’d gone I’m sure he wouldn’t be there anymore.”

Thor seemed surprised she had elaborated. It was off the script they had so carefully repeated all this time. “What was your relationship with my brother?”

It was very interesting that he still called Loki brother. They had both clearly been fighting to the death last time they’d seen each other. But she supposed that was par for the course with some brothers. “We were political allies. And then lovers.”

That couldn’t have been a surprise to him, but Thor tipped his head back, studying her anew. “Did you love him?”

She lifted a shoulder in a little shrug. “In my way.”

“Did he love you?” It almost sounded like the question pained him. 

“I suppose so.” He had never said the words, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t felt it. “As much as creatures like us are capable.”

“And yet here you sit.” Thor looked at the boundaries of her cell pointedly.

Syn stared at him a moment, then laughed, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh my. Did you expect him to come and rescue me?” His glower was answer enough. She shook her head. “How romantic. I’m rather flattered.”

He paced away from her, obviously put off by her mirth. Loki had often paced when they spoke, but Thor’s stride was quite different from his brother’s. Loki strolled from one side of the room to the other, often swinging his legs out playfully. Thor’s walk was more determined, straight and focused.

“If I loved a woman I wouldn’t leave her in prison while I roamed free,” he said when he returned to her end of the barrier.

“Well,” she said quietly, leaning her shoulder on the corner pillar, bringing herself closer to the glittering barrier. “You are Thor. And Loki is Loki.”

“He’s not. . . he wasn’t always like that. The way he was when you met him.”

So defensive over his wayward brother. She hid a smile, glancing up as if eyeing the limits of her cell. “It could be he was always as he was. And you simply never saw the truth until it was too late.”

Thor looked away. “Perhaps.”

Syn felt a pang for the man. Parents dead. Brother lost in more ways than one. She knew how lonely that could be. How isolating. “I enjoy fairy tales,” she said, causing him to look at her sharply. “I collect them, from all the realms. There’s one from Midgard I especially like called The Scorpion and the Frog.”

“I’m in no mood for children’s stories,” Thor grumbled.

“No one is forcing you to stay,” she replied, voice calm and serene. When he didn’t leave she continued. “Once there was a scorpion who needed to cross a river. He walked up and down the bank, looking for a bridge or a vine or a branch. Even a few smooth stones that he could use to get across. But he found nothing.

“He was growing quite desperate when he came across a frog sitting at the water’s edge. Deciding he had nothing to lose, he scuttled over to the frog and said quickly, ‘Please, sir frog, I mean you no harm. But I must get across this river. Would you please let me ride on your back to the other side?’

“The frog studied him a moment then replied, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can. Normally I try to help others, but I’m afraid that if I let you on my back to get across the water you’ll just sting me. You’re a scorpion, it’s your nature.’

“Earnestly, the scorpion assured him his fear was unfounded. ‘I promise, all I want is to get to the other side of the river. If I stung you, not only would I not get there, but I would drown too.’ Unable to argue with that logic, the frog let the scorpion onto his back and the two started across the water.”

“I do hope this has a point soon,” Thor said in a tone dry enough to be worthy of Loki.

Syn shook her head. “Patience is generally considered a virtue, your majesty.” She tapped her chin. “Now where was I. Ah, yes. The frog, with the scorpion on his back, swam as quick as he could across the river. Half way there, when they were still far from the other shore, the scorpion reared his tail up and struck the frog in the back, stinging him.

“The frog’s limbs began to grow numb as the poison of the scorpion sting flooded him. ‘You fool,’ the frog said as they started to slip beneath the surface. ‘Why did you do that? You said it yourself, now we’ll both drown.’

“Regretfully, the scorpion replied, ‘I’m sorry, I truly am. But, you see, I couldn’t help it. It’s my nature. I’m a scorpion.’”

There was a moment of silence after she had finished speaking. Then Thor said, “You think one’s nature is unchangeable. We are who we are and nothing we or anyone does can fix it.”

“I think we build our natures. Moment by moment, decision by difficult decision. Until we find ourselves on a path we might not have willingly chosen. But our choices have stacked up, creating walls we cannot climb and there’s no way to turn around. And so we plod along, adding bricks as we go.”

Thor’s eye was intense as he watched her. “And Loki? What was his choice? What set him on the path he now treads?”

She met his gaze through the haze of the cell barrier. “I think one day, one very bad day, Loki looked at you and realized he would never be the golden hero. So he set out to be the best villain he could be. I think he managed to forget that when he was with me, for a moment or an hour. But the path is always waiting. And it goes on forever.”

A muscle twitched in the king’s jaw and she wondered if it was anger at her or himself. Or perhaps the father that had set Loki’s feet on the path as sure as if he’d paved it himself. “And what are you, my lady, but another villain on the same path?”

Anger at her then, at least in part. Still, it had been such a productive conversation. “I think I’m a woman who did bad things for the very best reasons. I think I’ve paid too high a price for those things. I miss my parents and my brother. I miss Loki. I think you’ll probably be a good king but that he would have made you better. And I think that as time passes you will grow into ruling your realm and forget about Loki and me and the events that brought us together. You’ll stop coming down here to chat and I’ll be left alone to _rot_ , another relic of a forgotten war.” She turned away from him, walking back to her chair. “And I think this conversation has probably run its course.”

She could feel Thor’s gaze on her as she sat. “Then I suppose I’ll bid you goodnight,” he said finally.

“Good night, your majesty,” she replied pleasantly. She waited until he had turned away before looking up. “Be wary of what path you find yourself on.” He paused, but didn’t turn back or respond before continuing on his way out of the prison.

Slowly, the world around her seemed to grow quiet and still as prisoners settled in and fell asleep. The guard shift changed and the lights dimmed. Syn stayed in her chair, reading quietly, until the scent of winter reached her nose and coated her tongue.

She looked up in time to see his shadow separate from the deeper darkness of the corridor. Smiling faintly, she stood and walked to the barrier, reaching it the same time he did. “What took you so long?” she asked, managing a light tone.

Loki grinned at her widely. “I was simply taking your advice for once. Caution and planning.” He touched something on the wall and the gold barrier flickered and disappeared. “It’s not easy infiltrating the prison guard.” He held out a hand to help her out of the cell.

Syn wrapped her fingers around his and stepped over the lip of the cell, free for the first time in weeks. Before she could say anything else Loki tugged her hand and wrapped her in his arms. “I missed you,” he whispered into her hair.

She choked back her tears instinctively, because queens did not cry. But, well, she wasn’t a queen anymore, was she? So perhaps it wasn’t the end of the realms if a few hot droplets rolled down her cheeks. “I missed you, too.” His arms tightened at the sound of her voice.

“Hold on tight,” he cautioned her and the world tilted beneath her slippered feet. When it steadied again they were on the beach outside the Asgardian capital that he had taken to her once before. Once she was steady, he leaned back to look at her, stroking a thumb over her cheek. “I’m sorry for the delay.”

An apology from her Trickster. That might actually be worth two months in jail. She managed an honest smile and leaned into his palm. His skin was soft and cool, as always, big hand cradling her face gently. “I was well treated,” she told him. “It was certainly more pleasant than my last prison stay.”

“Good. I’d hoped to avoid having to kill my brother for any mistreatment.”

He was touching her, so that was actually true, which amazed her as much as anything else. “It’s very good to see you, Trickster,” she told him.

His eyes searched hers. “Did you think I wouldn’t come?” he asked quietly.

She had had her doubts, of course. One couldn’t spend day after day in a prison cell and not have their faith shaken. Especially since she had done her best to keep him as safe and far from trouble as she could. “I had hope,” she told him honestly.

He didn’t seem particularly offended, even smiling a bit. “The man you appointed is running Alfheim well.” It delighted her that he knew she would want to know before she even had the chance to ask. “Thor has sent out search parties for me,” he continued. “I imagine he’ll kill me on sight if I’m ever found.” She wasn’t entirely certain of that but wasn’t about to risk either of their lives on it. 

Loki skimmed his hands down her arms, then up again. “So here we stand, my dear. Two orphans without a home.” His fingers tightened on her slightly. “Save each other.” It was almost a question.

For a moment, she thought she might cry again. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but in some ways it was even more than that. She had come to accept the idea she might never hear those words from him. But to be considered his home, the one sure thing in his life. . . that was something real. Something he had probably never thought to have. It seemed almost too good to be true. “What of Asgard? And the throne?”

He glanced behind him, at the distant glow of the palace. “I thought it would bring me peace, but while I had it I only wanted more. Thor used to crave it and now that he doesn’t want it he’s forced to wear the crown.” He looked back at her, an odd half smile on his face. “Let that be my vengeance on him. I’ve always been a fan of a good irony.”

Surprise upon surprise. The months apart seemed to have been good for him. She allowed a wicked smile to surface. “I don’t know, Trickster. The two of us against the realms? It hardly seems fair.”

His smile grew into a knife’s blade grin. “The worlds will never know what hit them.” He touched her chin, tipping her face up to kiss her mouth. She felt her toes curl as she sank into it. By the Tree, she had missed him.

“It’s all ours, Syn,” he murmured against her mouth. “All the realms and the universe beyond. I can take you through the secret paths, show you places you’ve never imagined. Anywhere you can think of and a thousand places without a name. Where would you like to start?”

The idea was overwhelming, terrifying. For a moment she felt tangled in the threads of her past. Alfheim, Hilde, Colm. Even the memory of her brother and parents. How could she turn her back on them? On the life she had known, had built up for herself. Hilde would always wonder where she was and what had become of her. Colm was stuck on the throne, ruling a realm as abruptly has she had been forced into it.

But she had told Hilde to move on and live a life. And Colm was more than capable of abdicating. Of asking Thor or the royal council to find another puppet to sit on her throne. The realms would turn without her. They would manage just fine, in fact. It was time to step back into the shadows. If Loki could let go of his ambitions and start anew so should she. It was time to change the end of the story. This time, just this once, the villains were walking away from their comeuppance and starting a new tale.

There was one last thread she needed to snap before letting it all go. “The man who killed my brother is on Midgard. He owes me a debt I would like to collect. After that. . . well, with all those worlds spread out before us, surely we can find one worth ruling?”

He laughed, low and wicked so that it stirred dark things inside her. With a wave of his hand the simple gown she had worn in prison vanished, replaced by the black and gold thorn gown and its fanged jewelry. It was also accompanied by the jade necklace Loki had given her. She smoothed her hands down the heavy silk, doing a little turn for him.

Loki had donned his elaborate black and green armor. Together they cut a striking, menacing pair. He offered her his arm with a flourish. “Shall we, my lovely Truth?”

Warmed straight through to her core, she slid her arm into his and let him take her wherever he willed.

_Stories with wolves and vipers never end well for the beasts themselves. The woodsman swings his axe, the mongoose bares its teeth. The creature we fear is defeated and we call it a happy ending. But those are the stories that we tell. There are other tales out there. The stories the wolves and snakes tell each other. In those, defeat isn’t the end of the tale, but simply the first page of a new one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh, I can't believe it's over! A little bittersweet ending, perhaps, but hopefully not too bad.
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always. You guys are awesome and the best readers a girl could ask for.
> 
> Next Sunday I will start posting a new Syn/Loki AU but will probably put up a sneak peak on Tumblr before then.


End file.
